Albus Potter and the Colossus Code
by Crystalline Iridescentia
Summary: Book 1/7. The advanced magical world of the 21st century and the ultra-competitive academic nature of the Hogwarts of the next generation are set to collide. An insurmountable social hierarchy, rigorous tournaments, and a deadly destiny follow Albus Potter through his first year. To make it even worse, a terrible legend tells of the day that magic will disappear. That day is here.
1. The Unlucky Four

**Author's Note:**** Thanks so much for all the support and input, guys! I'm writing for you. Please enjoy!**

**FULL SUMMARY: Peace reigns nineteen years after the war, allowing wizards and witches to focus on learning and creating instead of fighting. In the tranquil post-war world, their ingenuity is displayed by the stunning amount of new magical advancements and inventions. The Ministry has been revolutionized, the magical population has boomed, and wizards and witches are being born with more magic than ever before. But every era of peace and prosperity must end one day, and that day is soon approaching.**

Albus Severus Potter, the seemingly ordinary son of the extraordinary Harry Potter, is about to begin his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where academic competition is vicious and the social hierarchy is based on a mix of talent, genius, and charisma. Every day at Hogwarts is a challenge of wits, daring, and sheer determination. Albus cannot be more out of place, at least until he starts hearing a malicious voice in his head, giving him talent and skill that he had only dreamed of, allowing him to win tournaments and competitions with unbelievable ease.

But great power does not come without a great price. Albus is realizing that humanity's rule on Earth is coming to an end. An ancient legend tells of a mysterious entity bent on "reclaiming" magic and destroying all life on the planet. But how can Albus save wizardkind and humankind if he cannot accept—or understand—his own destiny? How much time does the wizarding world have left before an unprecedented disaster strikes and magic disappears forever?

* * *

**BOOK ONE**

**~ALBUS POTTER **_**and the **_**COLOSSUS CODE~**

_Based on the characters and places of JK Rowling_

* * *

**-CHAPTER ONE-**

**THE UNLUCKY FOUR**

Candlelight flickered over the yellowed parchment, illuminating its imperfections. A light breeze set the small flame dancing, sending the shadows on the parchment into a mad frenzy. A bottle of ink stood on the smooth oak table, its shadow stiller than the flame's. A quill with a peacock feather rested at an angle inside the ink bottle, looking elegant and simple in the semidarkness.

A man sat stooped over the table, his nimble fingers smoothing out crumpled and disintegrating letters. These letters were clearly ancient, and their alphabet was not English, but an odd combination of Ancient Runes and the hieroglyphics of Ancient Egypt. These crucial letters contained a record of the deadly experiment that had taken place many, many years ago, and the man knew that the same experiment would be repeated in less than a month. He had less than that same month to make his preparations.

He gently removed the peacock-feather quill from the ink bottle and smoothed out a new piece of parchment, this one clean and white instead of old and yellow, and pricked it with the tip of his quill, staining it. As he wrote, he thought. He thought about the four children, from wildly different backgrounds, that they had carefully chosen.

One from a normal Muggle family. He was destined to be the killer, the ruthless assassin.

One from the depths of the dirtiest part of society, the poor. He was destined to be the mastermind, the calculating genius.

One from the heart—quite literally—of the experiment. She was destined to be the healer, the cunning defender.

One from the elite, the middle child of the most famous family in the country. He was destined to be the powerhouse, the leader of them all.

These four were proof of the fact that genetic engineering—and magenetical engineering—had reached a new high. They were a new race, and the old race's only hope of survival.

The man finished writing his letter. He stared at it, unseeing, but shook himself back to life.

It was time now. There was no point in him having second thoughts.

The man sealed the letter. He added the letter, and a few other new documents, into a pile with the old. He extracted his wand from his clock and waved it, conjuring a shell of a book. He waved his wand a second time, and all the loose papers flew into and bound themselves to the spine of the book, becoming the pages. He closed the book with an air of finality, dread pounding in his chest in place of his heart. He held his wand like a pen and whispered, "_Scribo." _Out of nowhere, words appeared on the plain brown cover of the book, the book that was the only hope for these four damned children, in elegant golden lettering.

_The Colossus Code._

Written in the letter inside the book, hidden among the many documents, was a cryptic, haunting message.

_By the time you get this letter, it will be eleven years in the future. In the very book you have found this letter in, you will find a large amount of documents from the past, which contain clues. If you are one of _us, _you will be able to figure them out. You are special, dangerous, and powerful. We cannot tell you anything. We are being watched. _You_ are being watched. But have hope—we will be looking for you. But so will _they.

_And _they _will find you first._

* * *

The boy had an eidetic memory—no, he had something stronger than an eidetic memory; it was superhuman. He could remember everything that had every occurred in his life, right from the moment he was born, when he had been wrapped in a warm, fuzzy blue blanket.

Despite this, he could not remember a time where he had been loved.

But he remembered his mother screaming when she touched his skin for the first time. He remembered his father scream, too. He'd been hours old, but he remembered. He remembered being delighted at the power coursing through his veins, delighted that their pain was giving him this power.

He remembered the doctors saying that there was something very, very wrong with him. He remembered all the needles they stuck in his skin, all the scans they gave him, hoping to make sense of why he destroyed everything he touched.

His skin was not normal skin. It was a weapon: a weapon that caused immense pain, and eventual death, to anything that came into contact with it.

The boy remembered being forced to cover every inch of his body. His parents put a mask on him, and gloves, too, as if that would change anything, make him any less of an abomination.

"He's a freak," his parents had said. They thought he couldn't understand, but they did not know how advanced his mind was. "We're going to send him away, so he won't hurt anyone."

"We can't send him to school. He won't be an investment banker, or a lawyer, or a doctor like we wanted. We're going to get rid of him and try again. We'll erase him from our minds. It will be just like he never existed," they said, thinking he could not understand their hateful, bitter looks.

He understood. Even some normal babies—and he certainly was much smarter than a normal baby—would understand when they were not wanted.

"He's not _worth _keeping. He's not worth all this trouble_._ He's a monster. _We don't want him._"

For some reason, her remembered all of this, all these terrible conversations, but he could not remember his parents' faces. Perhaps it was because he did not want to remember their faces. He did not want to remember the people who had called a baby a monster, even though he was. _Is. _

But he did remember that dark, cold night. He remembered being bundled up and passed from his mother's tight, rigid arms. He remembered a low, liquid voice.

"He will be in safe hands, Mr. and Mrs. Jones." But the boy knew that the man had known that the boy's parents hadn't cared whether he was in safe hands, as long as he was out of theirs.

The boy could not remember any more of the conversation, because he had fallen asleep. The darkness had been too thick.

The next few years passed in a blur, though he could remember every second of them. He could remember the date and day of the week of every day. He could remember the weather that day and what had happened to him on that day.

He learned to speak quickly. He had been less than one before words took the form of phrases, then childish sentences. He was at the mental development of a four year old at ten months old.

He could remember a woman teaching him. She encouraged him. She was pretty, with blond hair and blue eyes and a warm smile with dimples. The boy had decided right then that he liked blond hair and blue eyes. But the woman did not last; she disappeared on his first birthday.

After that, it was work and no play. He already knew shapes. He already knew colors. He already knew numbers. He knew subtraction and addition and multiplication and division. At two years old he knew these things. At three, he learned different things. They—a variety of men and women, though mostly men—told him how to defend himself. They told him how to grab onto someone just right to make them faint. They told him to always go for the eyes.

They told him to not be worried when a person fell to the ground and didn't move again.

When the boy was four, he knew how to kill. He could remember that one time where they had told him to grasp a cloaked figure in a hood. The person wearing the cloak had screamed, had begged for him to let go. He or she had said it hurt. But the boy hadn't let go. He had been taught to keep holding on until the person he was holding on to went limp, as this person soon did in a matter of a minute.

The praise came in heaps. He could remember the conversations centered around him, the eagerness.

"Look at his mental development. He's miles ahead of the average child. This in addition to his eidetic memory could mean that he has the highest IQ in the world."

"We trained him to kill from the start. Think of his potential as an assassin. Nobody would suspect a child. He would have a hundred percent success rate in his missions."

Sometimes, his future was shrouded in uncertainty.

"Will we teach him magic?"

"Will we send him to Hogwarts?"

"Are we taking a child's future away from him?"

There were always answers to these questions, however.

"We will teach him magic; it will be useful. The only thing he is good at is killing. He needs to be good at escaping as well."

"We can't send him to Hogwarts; he would kill half the school. Someone with his skin cannot be allowed in public."

"Taking a child's future? The child had no future in the first place, not with his...condition. _We gave him everything._"

The boy was grateful, so he did everything his superiors told him to. There was one man in particular—the very same who had taken him from his parents' home when he'd been a newborn. This one man told him to never pity, to never have mercy.

"Your parents threw you away like an unused tissue. They are a perfect example of people everywhere," the man had said. "You do not pity people. You do not have mercy for people."

"Why?" the boy had asked.

"Because they will throw you away otherwise. People are born to be killed. _You do not have respect for their lives._"

The boy did not understand.

"What's killing?"

And then there was a sad look in the man's eyes.

"What you've been doing all along."

The boy was silent.

"Oh. That's cool."

* * *

Society had a penchant for stepping over dead bodies and plugging their noses as they did it. They didn't give the bodies a second look. They went on to talk about what brand-name clothes they were going to buy, or what new gossip about some stupid celebrity who had never worked a day in his or her life graced the tabloids. The bodies took the role of the crumbs under the rug, swept there hastily, concealed from the ignorant eye.

But in this boy's world, the bodies were not under the rug. They were everywhere. They were draped all over the expensive furniture, all over the carpeted floor, all over the shiny coffee table. Their blood was smeared on the walls, the ceiling. Their stink was in the air.

The dirtiest, gloomiest part of the city was not illuminated. It was a waste of money to illuminate it, and the boy liked the dark. Darkness meant you couldn't see, and the boy felt special because he felt he could see in the dark when no one else could.

He could predict what mad-eyed man was about to take a knife out of his pocket. He knew what glint a rapist would have in his eyes. He could sense, if not see, the bruises behind the clothes of children, knew how many tears they had shed that day.

"Mum, I'm home," they boy said every day after he came back from primary school. In the books the boy read, the mother would respond with a hearty "It's about time!" and give him a plate of biscuits and a cup of tea and then ask him about his day.

The boy's mother did no such thing. She did not even respond. Her heart was dead. Only her body continued to work, like a wind-up doll that hadn't quite finished unwinding, even though the person who had been winding it had long since abandoned it. Usually she was upstairs. Making no noise, no sound, at least until his father came back, which was when she would start to cry and beg.

The boy felt no pity, only bitterness. They both had bruises, bruises so bad that he had to wear full sleeves and she sunglasses in public. But she had only stood aside all those times, sobbing, making a great show of pleading her husband not to hurt her son—_their _son. But it was just that, a show, because she had failed. She did not protect him.

She didn't even protect herself.

So bitter, so angry was the boy that he could not make himself cry when she overdosed—purposefully or accidentally, it wasn't hard to guess—and died in her sleep.

The boy hated her, but he felt more disappointed in himself than he did in her. He hadn't been worth it; he hadn't been a good enough son. She hadn't stayed for him, after all.

If possible, the boy's father was worse after that. In his drunken rages, he'd mutter things, things that made no sense to the boy.

"_They're_ after you. You're one of _them" _and "You can do _things._"

The boy knew he could do things. He remembered everything he read, everything he learned. The boy, under ten years old, knew things better than some university students did. Sometimes he could influence people. A couple times he'd convinced his father to leave the house early, or to not be in the mood for a beating. He'd made animals do things he'd wanted them to do, too. He could even speak to snakes, though snakes didn't need any convincing to do his bidding.

But the most significant of these "things" was that he could read minds. The thoughts of people were a constant hum in his ears, like a fly that liked to sleep behind his ear. All he had to do was tune in, focus, and a person's innermost thoughts would be laid out for him to see, naked and vulnerable.

This was why the boy was so good at seeing in the dark. He could see into minds, and what in the world was darker, more obscure than the human mind?

* * *

The girl was an amnesiac. She did not remember anything before the fourteenth of February of her ninth year.

Her first memory was that it was very cold. Her second memory was that it was Valentine's Day. Couples were holding hands as they walked down the street, cuddling in the chilliness, sweet, loving looks on their faces as they regarded each other.

The girl was in the middle of the sidewalk, uncomprehending. She could not remember why she was in the middle of the sidewalk, except that she was out of breath, freezing, and hungry. She had been running, but from what, she no longer remembered. It was important, though, very important. She had been running from someone who had been chasing her, and that person would continue to chase her, whether or not she remembered.

The girl walked into a café, and it was obvious that she was the only child there. The owner of the café asked her if she was all right, if she wanted her mum.

The girl said, "Yes, I want my mum. But I forget who she is."

The owner of the café stared at her as though she were insane.

The girl could not blame him. She didn't remember anything, but she was pretty sure little girls weren't supposed to forget who their mothers were one random day in the middle of February.

At that moment, the doors to the café opened, letting in a gust of wind. The girl drew her arms about herself and shivered. A tall man stood there, and at once she was terrified for her life. The man strode toward her, his cold beady eyes fixed on her as if she were his target.

"I'm very sorry," he said to the café owner in a smooth voice. "I was looking for her everywhere."

The girl instinctively knew it was him that she had been running from. If only she'd had her memory, then she would have known _why _she had been running from him.

"Come," said the man, holding out a hand.

The girl did not take it. She stood there, still shaking, more out of fear than cold. "What do you want?"

"Come, dear. Come with me."

"I escaped," she said.

"You don't remember."

Those words sent a chill through her stronger than any winter breeze. He knew.

"I remember," she lied. "I remember very well. You're my...my...my..." She trailed off.

"You have never met me before," said the man. "If you remembered, you would have known that."

The girl didn't know if the man was tricking her, but she couldn't think about it, because at that moment the man had inconspicuously taken a stick out of his pocket, narrower in the front and wider in the back.

The girl seemed to know that it was a wand, though why she knew it was a wand or why she even knew what a wand was was a mystery to her.

Then the man whispered something, unnoticed in the cozy street-side café, and she didn't want to resist anymore. Her thoughts were clouded, and she thought of dandelions and flowers and bunnies, no longer afraid, no longer sentient. She took his hand and walked out, her eyes glazed over. When they reached an abandoned corner of the street, the man muttered something, there was a jet of red light, and the girl felt her feet give way underneath her.

* * *

The boy with the green eyes was used to camera flashes, the fancy dinner parties, the coos of adults saying he looked exactly like his father. He was used to dress robes, used to smiling so wide his face hurt, used to pretending he respected the people with the gaudy accessories who acted like they were the center of the universe.

But, in a way, he would never be used to being the son of a hero.

His mother had taught him to walk just right, to hold his fork just right, to wipe his face with a napkin just right. He had been briefed on what to reveal to strangers about his family. He had been warned never to touch food or drink without having it tested for poison first.

"Your father is a very special man," his mother had told him and his siblings when they had been very young. "He's a very good man, too. Special and good. But some people don't like him, because he's so good. People want to hurt him sometimes. They might try to hurt you, to hurt him. That's why you must always be very, very _careful._"

But the boy did not need to be warned, for he knew even better than his parents when someone wished him misfortune: he could see colored nimbuses around everyone in the ballroom. _Auras. _The emotions of people took a visible form for him. The politicians' superior purple auras. His parents' irritated yellow-orange auras. His siblings' bored gray auras. He could see malicious dark green auras as well, and there were plenty here in the heart of the Ministry, also known as the heart of the ambitious and the greedy.

Humans, the boy realized, were fickle creatures. They always changed auras, moods. They could never make up their minds. They hated someone one minute and loved them the next. They were happy one minute and sad the next. They were jealous one minute and proud the next. They were good one minute and cruel the next. The ever-changing auras gave him headaches, and as a result, so did people.

But auras were not the only thing the boy could see. He could tell, for instance, that the bowls of wine had magical sensors that made sure that no one under twenty-one years of age was drinking. He could also tell that the walls were lined with an invisible, enchanted sheet of magic which would put the entire ballroom under lockdown during an emergency. He could even see the little floating spheres that surveyed the occupants of the ballroom, making sure that no one had snuck a wand or other weapon inside.

Magic kept no secrets from the boy: he saw everything.

Perhaps that was why magic was so bitter. The boy could not do magic, no matter how much he strained, how much he raged, how much he cried. The boy collapsed, unexpectedly feeling ill, and was rushed to St. Mungo's on a monthly basis. The boy had to take medicines and potions, and hear the anxious whispers of his parents, wondering why he was so sick, what was wrong with him.

And he woke up in a nervous sweat every morning, panicked after his nightly terror. Sometimes he screamed, and his parents would come rushing into his room, asking what had happened, but he wouldn't be able to tell them because he didn't remember. His nightmares were clever; they tortured him, never letting him understand what they were about.

He yelled at the whispers in his nightmares. "Tell me what you're saying!" he'd screech into his pillow. "Just tell me!"

And the whispers turned into cackles and danced away from him, fleeing gleefully, taking joy in his despair.

But there was one word that they revealed to him, that the nightmares and the whispers told him over and over again.

_Colossus. Colossus. Colossus._

* * *

**Author's Note: I will be uploading the chapters on a biweekly schedule for now, which means the next update will be two weeks from now, on Friday, November 15. I appreciate all reviews and PMs I receive, and I read all of them carefully. Thanks for sticking me this long. I promise to try to make it worth your while!**

**-Crystalline**


	2. The Boy With No Scar

**Author's Note: Thanks for all of your feedback! I will not be posting the results of the vote/poll anywhere because a few notable times, I did not choose the option the majority voted for, and I don't want the results to influence your predictions for the series. However, there's nothing stopping you from tallying up the votes yourself if you really want to know.**

* * *

**-CHAPTER TWO-**

**THE BOY WITH NO SCAR**

_You are a Colossus._

The boy thrashed in his sleep, tangling himself in his sheets.

_I can give you everything you desire._

The boy's face scrunched up, as if he were in great pain.

_You just have to give me one thing in return._

The boy pressed his scalding-hot forehead into his pillow, his teeth gritted.

_Your life._

Eleven-year-old Albus Severus Potter jerked awake, his heart beating out of control, his breath coming in gasps. He could still hear the malicious whispers from his dreams, banging on his skull like impatient visitors knocking on a door. He clutched his throbbing head and staggered to his feet, attempting to find a glass of water in his half-blindness. To his great relief, the glass in question was on the bedside table, and he snatched it up, bringing it to his mouth hastily. The water cooled his parched throat, and he stood there, taking deep breaths until the whispering from his dreams had receded.

Sighing in relief, he threw himself back on his bed and attempted to get his bearings. It was very dark in his room; the only form of illumination was the morning light creeping in from behind his curtains. Albus reached for his window and threw the curtains wide open, splashing the room with sunlight. This did not make much of a difference, as it was a very blank and empty room. There were no posters on the wall, no decorations, and no clues to his personality whatsoever.

Albus turned to face his reliable magical clock. "Time, day, and weather?" he asked it, without much interest.

The clock whirred to life, emitting puffs of smoke and sparks. "8:47. Saturday July 29th, 2017. Sunny," it rattled off in a cool female voice, falling silent once it was done.

Albus groaned into his quilt, then painstakingly got off his bed again and hauled himself across his bedroom. He stopped in front of his mirror and stared sleepily back at it. Back at him stared a short, unhealthily pale and skinny black-haired boy with a heavy spattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose. Brilliant emerald green eyes blinked tiredly at him as he failed at patting down the bit of hair that was sticking up at the back of his head.

There was no lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

He tapped the bedside table once, and a magical comb leapt up into the air to begin the impossible task of taming his hair. As the comb did so, he stumbled to the toilet. The moment he entered it, water splashed up from the sink of its own accord, washing the sleep from his eyes. He left, his face still being dried by a magical flying towel. When it had finally finished, he seized his trademark circular glasses and jammed them on his face.

"Enough," Albus commanded the magical comb, which fell to the ground, disheartened because it had not managed to get his hair to lie flat. Sighing heavily, he dragged himself out of his room and stepped out onto the second-floor landing. He slowly shuffled down the corridor, exhausted. He was always especially tired after one of his nightmares, whatever it happened to be.

After an extremely ungainly journey down the stairs, Albus arrived in the living room, where he was lured to the dining room by the promising scent of freshly buttered toast. Sunlight was filtering into the house through the windows, illuminating the large yet somehow cozy house. The kitchen and adjoining dining room were both spacious, and the dining room had a radio and the elegant, expandable glass table where everyone sat at family gatherings.

"It's about time," said his mother dryly as Albus wandered into the kitchen, eyes lidded with sleep. His father and siblings were seated at the cozy, round breakfast table while Ginny bustled around in the kitchen, making toast, using her wand to help her along.

As an innocent bystander may have surmised from his habit of waking up after having prophetic nightmares, Albus was a strange boy, and not just because of that. He could see auras, which appeared as a colored nimbus around every person and animal. He could not _feel_ their emotions; he could only see them. He had kept this a secret; being able to see emotions felt like spying on the private affairs of others, and he didn't want anyone to know that he regularly did something so shameful. If anyone knew, they'd never go near him again.

Over time, he had learn to associate each color with a very specific, concentrated emotion. For example, all of the auras of his family members were shades of yellow, though each of the shades meant something slightly different. James was a light yellow, which meant he was pleasantly sleepy; Lily was a bright yellow, which meant she was eager for the day; Harry was a golden yellow, which meant he was utterly happy; and Ginny's was a pale, soft yellow-orange, which meant she was comfortably busy.

Albus unceremoniously threw himself into a chair beside his father after muttering a hasty apology to his mother for waking up later than usual.

"Good morning," said Harry brightly, rustling his newspaper.

Harry Potter hadn't changed much in the nineteen years after the war. He was reserved and formal with strangers, but around family members and friends he was outgoing and friendly. Albus knew that his father had been through a lot, and none of the wounds had completely healed. Even so, he had never thought of his father as anything but, well, a _dad_. He found it hard to believe that his father, who sometimes carried his children around on his shoulders and woke them up on special occasions with breakfast in bed, could have been anything but a father. It was near-impossible for him to imagine Harry as a moody young man, standing against Voldemort, not knowing whether each day was going to be his last.

Albus neglected to meet his father's eyes as he drew a glass of orange juice toward him. "Yeah, good morning," he said quietly.

"Good morning," chirped Lily, right on cue, her bright aura extremely distracting to Albus. Adorable little nine-year-old Lily, who often had every adult wrapped around her finger, was struggling to pour milk from the heavy jug on the table into her special pink cup, which was decorated with pictures of unicorns and fairies.

"Careful, sweetie," said Ginny, coming over to help Lily and lay a plate of toast in front Albus.

"Al, as I was saying before you came downstairs," said Ginny, taking a seat at the table, "we'll be going to Diagon Alley in a few days, as soon as the Hogwarts letters come."

James, who hadn't spoken before now because he'd been too busy shoveling food into his mouth, looked up. He shot an evil look at his brother, his light yellow aura turning a malicious greenish-brown. "Al should take his medicine the morning before we go, because we'll be walking around all day. Remember he had a panic attack at the Ministry gala last year, right in front of all the reporters and cameramen?"

Albus had half a mind to seize a plate from the nearby rack and smash it over James's head.

Unfortunately, his parents did not detect the arrogant tone in James's voice. They only heard the concern. Harry beamed at James, his aura becoming more golden by the second. "I had no idea you cared so much about your brother. That's right, Al should take some medicine before we leave for Diagon Alley."

Ginny nodded in agreement with her husband, turning her blazing brown eyes to Albus. "I'll take some of the medipotions with me, in case you feel sick during the day."

If Albus had thought it couldn't get any worse, he'd been wrong. Lily piped up, "Mummy, Daddy, why is Al so sick sometimes?"

"I'm _not_ sick!" bellowed Albus, causing everyone in his family to stare at him. His fork dropped to the table with a clatter. "Mind your own business, Lily!"

He glowered at his parents. "And I'd appreciate it if you don't keep talking about my being ill like I'm not even there. I can hear you, you know."

Ginny shook her head at him, her aura darkening with frustration. "Stop being so sensitive, Al. You need to realize that we care about you. Your illness is not a weakness unless you make it be."

Albus pouted, jutting his lower lip out. He wasn't cute like Lily or James, so he just looked sullen. "But Mum, it _is_ a weakness. It's not even that severe, so I don't know why everyone makes such a big deal of it. I'm no different from anyone else."

"Of course you aren't," Harry assured him, his golden aura faltering, turning gray with worry. Albus tried to ignore this. The frustrating thing about auras were that you often got guilty whenever something you said caused a change in someone's aura for the worse. "We weren't saying that you weren't normal. We just like to be cautious."

But Albus knew that he _was_ different, even if you didn't know about his ability to see auras. He had always been sickly as a child, falling ill at the drop of a hat and often suffering from fainting and dizzy spells. He'd collapsed in public countless times, his head spinning with whispers that he could never discern, at the least opportune moments. His parents had been forced to rush him to St. Mungo's on numerous occasions, and his mysterious condition had alarmed the Healers so much that he had been instructed to take copious amounts of medicine whenever he went outside and had to refrain from eating unhealthy foods and participating in heavy or dangerous physical activity.

Ginny said, "Harry, do you know where those old seizure-prevention potions are? I can't remember where I put them."

Albus blanched. "Excuse me? I haven't had a seizure in years! _Years_!"

"Which means one's been building up, and it's due," sniffed Ginny.

"That's not how it works! You can't be serious!" wailed Albus, while his siblings snickered in the background. "I'm not going to have a seizure! A panic attack, at the worst. Okay?"

"Al," snapped Ginny, her aura getting dangerously close to red, "you need to start taking your condition more seriously. I'm sick of your _macho_ routine, okay?

"Leave me alone!" said Albus, so angry that he forgot that he wasn't supposed to speak with his mouth open. Soggy crumbs dribbled out of his mouth.

"_Ew_!" shrieked Lily. "Albus is being gross! Look, Daddy, Mummy, Al's being _so_ gross!"

"Stuff it," snarled Albus.

"AL!" reprimanded his mother.

"Sorry, Lily," said Albus, not meaning it in the slightest.

Harry sighed and ruffled Albus's hair, half affectionately, half exasperatedly. "Al, wipe your chin, and while you're at it, stop being so miserable and grumpy all the time. You're not even a teenager yet! Save your angst for the adolescent years, will you?"

Albus said nothing. His mouth was set in a thin line.

Sensing that Albus was about to throw a tantrum, Harry changed the subject. "When do you reckon the booklists are going to come, Ginny?"

"They should be coming today or tomorrow," answered Ginny, buttering her toast. Her aura returned to its previous pale yellowish-orange, much to Albus's relief.

"Wait, Dad, Mum," said James, "did you say booklists, as in _plural_?"

Yes," said Harry, giving James a strange look, "We did. Because there's going to be two. Yours and Al's."

James grinned sweetly, displaying his dimples and perfect white teeth, always the image of innocence. Albus was not fooled; James's murky green aura practically screamed mischief. "Ah, but you know that Al's not getting one. Because he's a Squib! He's never done magic. Hogwarts won't want him!"

Albus's heart skipped about ten beats, then outright failed. He opened his mouth like a mute Mandrake out of its pot, and then closed it again. James was right. Albus, though everyone, including the Healers and his parents, said that he had a shockingly high magic level, he had never been able to do magic. It just hadn't happened. Albus wasn't calm-tempered or anything—he had just as many tantrums as the next child, maybe even more. But magic, for some reason, didn't want to work with him.

"That's silly," sniffed Ginny, the first to recover from James's stupidity. "Of course Al will get a letter." But it was clear from her darkening aura that she was a bit worried.

"Don't kid yourself, Mum," said James. "Al's never done magic in his entire life."

"He has a ton of magic," said Harry, who'd managed to formulate a sentence to counter James at last. "He just hasn't shown it yet."

"And never will," muttered James under his breath.

The entire family turned to look at Albus to see how he was taking it: all color was absent from his face. Ginny grabbed James by the sleeve of his shirt and said, "James! Apologize to your brother right now!" Her aura went completely red in less than a second.

"I was just telling the truth!" said James indignantly, his aura matching his mother's perfectly. "You can't punish me for being honest!"

Albus scowled at his knees. His fists were clenched over his pants, wrinkling them, but he didn't care. He could feel another panic attack coming along, and he felt close to fainting again. He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself without his family members noticing that he was going to have a mental breakdown.

_Great. Just great._ Why didn't everyone just cluster all the useless, disabled freaks together and curse a meteor to crash straight into them? It would save the world a lot of trouble, in Albus's humble opinion.

But soon enough, Albus was jerked out of his depressing musings by his father's excited shout. "Al!" said Harry, pointing out the window. "Look, do you see those two dots in the distance? Those are owls!"

Jerking his head so hard that his neck cracked, Albus looked out the window and indeed saw two faint specks, which were moving closer and closer with each passing second. He couldn't believe it. Two letters! _Two, _which meant one of them was for him! He had gotten a letter—he wasn't a useless Squib after all.

Straightening his collar, he stood up and walked toward the window in a dignified manner, pretending to act as though he wasn't all surprised by the news. Within moments, the two owls had reached the kitchen window, and both obediently held out their legs for Albus to unclasp the letters. Pleasure flooding through him, he opened the letter addressed to him. It was made out of thick, yellowing parchment and it was with slight difficulty that he managed to rip it open.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Eugene Reinhold  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Esteemed Member of the International Wizarding Board of Education, Founding Father of the Talent Search, Supreme Mugwomp, International Confederation of Wizards.)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find an enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on Friday, September 1st. We await your owl no later than July 31st._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Neville Longbottom  
Deputy Headmaster_

Albus feverishly yanked the second page out of the thick, yellow envelope.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_UNIFORM_

_First year students will require:_

_1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for daywear  
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)  
4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)_

_Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags._

_COURSE BOOKS_

Transfiguration Applications (Grade 1) _by Mutatio Conmutter  
_The Path to Advanced Potioneering _by Cerven Sarius  
_Clever Charms for the Cleverest _by Nitida Pulcher  
_Dueling and Defense in the Age of Advanced Magic (Grade 1) _by Faulkes Chronos  
_A History of Magic: 21st Century Edition _by Hermione Granger-Weasley  
_Operating the Majigraph _by Liam Limestowne  
_Two Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _by Phyllianna Spore  
_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them: Revised Edition _by Rolf and Luna Scamander  
_The Meaning of the Stars in the Sky _by Astronomius Height_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT_

_1 wand (double core required; liquid core or double wood also accepted)  
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set of glass or crystal phials  
1 telescope  
1 set brass scales_

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad. (NOTE: exceptions may be made in special circumstances.)_

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS._

Albus grinned happily as he folded the parchment back into its letter. "I'm not a Squib after all, eh, James? Suck on _that_, b—"

"Albus Severus Potter," said Ginny warningly, "I seriously hope you're not about to say what I think you were about to say."

"Nope," said Albus cheerily, popping the "p" in "nope." "I was going to say 'boy.' I promise."

His parents probably didn't believe him, but they let the matter drop for the time being. Harry and Ginny pulled Albus out of his seat to hug him, both at the same time. Lily squealed, "Group hug!" and tried to join in, but Albus surreptitiously pushed her away. As the middle child, he rarely had his parents to himself, and he was going to take full advantage of this moment. His parents' auras were both golden at the moment, and he was resolving to keep it that way.

But then, as quickly as it had come, his good mood drained away. "This doesn't change the fact that I still can't do magic, though."

"If Hogwarts let you in, you can do magic," insisted Harry. "Maybe you need your wand first."

"What wand in the universe is going to choose a Squib like him, especially since all of them are super advanced and have double cores and woods?" sneered James.

"YOU SHUT UP!" said Albus.

Harry tried to mediate, knowing that Albus's temper, already stirred today, was a force to be reckoned with. "Al, James, play nice. We're all friends here. Besides, if you don't behave, we won't go to Diagon Alley today like we were planning to. I was even thinking of contacting Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron so they and Rose and Hugo could meet up with us there."

Albus and James froze in the act of making rude hand gestures at each other. "We're going to Diagon Alley? Today?" they both said at the same time.

"If you shake hands, smile, and say sorry, then we will," said Harry.

Albus and James shook hands across the table and said sorry. Then they attempted to smile at each other, looking as though the simple act was causing them physical pain. They dropped hands and looked away at the earliest possible moment.

"Dear Merlin," muttered Ginny. Her aura went a washed-out purple. "You boys are never going to get along, are you?"

"Finish up your breakfast and get ready to go out, kids," said Harry. "It's Saturday, so it's bound to be crowded, and I want to get to Diagon Alley early to avoid the rush."

Albus and James locked eyes, and both shoved the last of their toast into their mouths. They hastened to clean the table (by hand, because Harry insisted that doing Muggle chores "built character" or something equally ridiculous) and pushed in their chairs. In dignified silence, the brothers walked over to the stairs.

"Why are they being so polite and peaceful?" whispered Ginny to Harry, looking worried. "This is really strange. It's worrying me."

"RACE YOU UP THE STAIRS!" shouted James abruptly, beginning to sprint up the stairs like a madman.

"YOU'RE _ON_!" said Albus in glee, hot on his brother's heels.

"I knew it was too good to be true," sighed Ginny, sharing an amused look with Harry.

At that moment, Albus's right leg got caught on one of the steps, and he fell to the ground and slithered ungracefully down the remaining length of the stairs, the wind getting knocked out of him. As his parents came running, alerted by the telltale thudding of his embarrassing fall down the stairs, he wondered why he was always the underdog, the weakest in a generation made up of some of the strongest wizards in history.

"Mummy, Daddy," said Lily, sipping milk daintily from her dumb pink fairy-and-unicorn cup, "Al's really clumsy. He fell down the stairs, did you know? Why is he like that?"

* * *

Albus was the last one into the Leaky Cauldron via the Floo Network. He leapt out of the green flames, coughing and clutching at his chest. His parents helped him up and steadied him, giving him concerned looks.

"You okay, Al? Floo travel is always taxing on you," said his father.

"I'm fine," said Albus in a hoarse voice.

He looked around the Leaky Cauldron, awed by how clean and elegant it was. In the days of the old landlord, some bald old man named Tom, the Leaky Cauldron had been dirty and lacking in class, but when Hannah Longbottom had taken over, she had turned it into a five-star restaurant practically overnight. The floors were scrubbed so well that Albus could see his reflection in them, and the glass tables and leather sofas were arranged fashionably around the pub. Countless people were sitting around, their multicolored auras mingling, clinking glasses of magical wine and talking about the weather or other boring adult things while their numerous children played hide-and-seek among the various vases and chairs.

"Harry! Ginny! Over here!" called a familiar voice from the far side of the pub. It was Albus's aunt Hermione, and his uncle Ron was with her. Their two children, curly-haired Rose and bespectacled Hugo, stood by them.

"Ron, Hermione!" said Harry, taking his family to join Ron and Hermione's by a booth near the window.

"We just arrived," said Hermione breathlessly as the Potter family sat down. "Look at this crowd. It's not even noon yet!"

"We should get going then," said Ginny. "We have a long day of shopping ahead of us. I think we should start in Flourish and Blotts…" While his parents talked with Ron and Hermione, whom the Potter children knew so well that they thought of them as a second pair of parents, Albus looked around to see that most of the people in the pub had their eyes on his family.

Everywhere the Potters went, they could not escape from fame. They were dogged by determined reporters, crazy stalkers, and even foreign politicians. When Albus had been younger, the Potters had been guarded by Aurors, but more recently, due to the fact that the threat of the remaining Death Eaters and their followers had significantly diminished, Aurors no longer needed to protect them at every moment. But that did not mean that the odd bottle of poison or other types of amateur death threats didn't still turn up. The Potter family was—and always would be—in danger, whether it was from the paparazzi or Dark wizards.

But Albus, for the strangest reason, had often been able to sense whenever something malicious was in his drink or food. Once he had discovered that his entire family's meal at some posh Ministry dinner had been drugged. How he knew it, he wasn't sure, but he had been able to see it: it had looked like a translucent piece of parchment over his food, murky and dangerous. But no one else had seen it, no one at all. Why was he able to see things that other could not?

Albus was jerked out of his musings by the sudden appearance of Hannah, the landlady and an old family friend. Not even a split second had passed before Lily, Hugo, Rose, James, and Albus had leapt up and ran at her. Though she and her husband Neville had not been able to have any children of their own, it didn't make them bitter at all. The Weasley and Potter children—Albus, James, Lily, Hugo, and Rose, especially—had adopted them as yet another pair of parents, and Hannah and Neville had returned the favor in showering them with love and treats.

"It's a full house, isn't it?" said Hannah, stroking James's cheek while ruffling Rose's orange curls, her aura golden. "Neville's taking care of the Muggle-born students this year; he's in Diagon Alley, helping them with their school supplies."

"That's good of him," said Harry. "They must be out of their minds with confusion."

"He made Deputy Headmaster this year, too, didn't he?" said Ginny, her aura growing golden with pride. "We wanted to congratulate him."

"I'll pass on the message," said Hannah warmly. "He's so excited about being Deputy Headmaster, you know. He really looks up to Headmaster Reinhold."

"I can imagine that _anyone_ would look up to Eugene Reinhold," chuckled Hermione. "A wizard with as much talent as he does is hard to come by. Just look at how he transformed Hogwarts and influenced the rest of the magical schools in the world. I didn't think anyone could do as good a job as Dumbledore until Reinhold came along."

"Reinhold's the one that created the Talent Search, right?" said Ron.

"And the Junior Wizard Games," said Hermione. "The Talent Search is international and goes to a different continent each year; the JWGs are primarily at Hogwarts and occur every year."

"The bloke really likes his competitions," muttered Ron. "Say… you were saying something about the Talent Search coming to Europe this year, right?"

"Yes," sighed Hermione. "Annoying, really, how Rose will just be a first year. First years rarely even get_ into_ the Talent Search, let alone win it."

Hannah had just taken an interest in Ron and Hermione's conversation. "That's true; it's very rare for a student in the younger years to win, but the first-ever winner of the Talent Search was Axel Arion, and he was only in third year at the time."

Ron shuddered. "Axel Arion… _ugh_… the man's the star of all rising stars. He's going to rule the world someday soon. Did you know that he just got _another_ promotion? He's earning more than you, me, and Harry put together—and that's saying something! How old is he now? Twenty-seven or something? Blimey."

Albus let his mind wander as the adults changed the topic to Quidditch. Of course, he knew that the Talent Search was coming to Hogwarts. He had extensively researched it, as well as read the biographies of all its winners. It was one day his dream to win the Talent Search, but it was a long shot. He was smart, really smart—genius smart, even—but if he couldn't do magic, there was no way he was even going to survive the highly selective application process to even _participate _in the tournament, let alone win it.

"Goodness, look at the time," said Ginny, using her wand to check the time. Her aura became dark yellow, almost brown, with panic. "We have to get going with the shopping. We're so late already."

Albus sighed in relief, then mentally groaned when the adults took an additional five minutes to say goodbye to Hannah and promise that they would try to say hi to Neville if they saw him. At last, they left the Leaky Cauldron and entered the chilly courtyard that was the gateway to Diagon Alley. Harry reached for the bricks and tapped them in a counterclockwise order with his wand, and they moved aside to reveal a magnificent archway to a bustling, narrow street that was packed with witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes.

"Got your Shield and Disarming Charms ready, Harry? You've got to protect us from the reporters and cameramen this time around instead of Voldemort. I swear, he was just a warm-up act compared to the paparazzi we've got to deal with these days," chortled Ron.

"_Please_," sniffed Ginny. "There's not going to be reporters and cameramen out today. They don't _live_ here."

"You'll be eating your words, Ginny," said Ron, pointing a few yards away from them, where a cluster of said cameramen and reporters were gathered like vultures.

_CLICK. CLICK. CLICK._

Bright flashes of light temporarily stunned Albus. After he had blinked the bright spots from his eyes, they were once more assaulted by bright lights, this time the ever-changing, countless auras of all the people in the alley. Albus's head spun.

The family started down the street, cameras following them closely, people darting forward to demand autographs from Harry and ask questions. Albus just wanted to kick and push his way through the crowd, but he let his father do the work, admiring the way his father was always polite and modest and mature, even with the middle-aged women that screamed with glee when they saw him. Albus noted that their auras were all an obsessive, dangerous dark pink.

"Merlin, we can't even go shopping without a swarm of Harry's female stalkers attacking us," hissed a Ginny with a very red aura to Hermione, who looked amused. "It's like they don't even know he's _married_!"

The sheer amount of people watching them made Albus resist the urge to scratch his hindquarters in fear of the action appearing in the newspaper tomorrow morning. He could imagine the front-page headlines now: BREAKING NEWS! HARRY POTTER'S SON SCRATCHES HIS BUTTOCKS!

As far as the rest of the wizarding world was concerned, the Potters were an extraordinary family, despite all the evidence to the contrary. They were as dysfunctional as any other family; they got into their arguments and had their embarrassing moments. But nobody cared about that, nobody gave them any privacy. Even the slightest hiccup in Ginny and Harry's relationship made it into the newspapers, and articles on their children's first words, first steps, and first uses of magic were published.

After the torturous walk down the street, the Potters and their Weasley friends finally made it to Flourish and Blotts. "Get your booklists out," barked Ginny at her sons and Rose, snapping her fingers as they entered the quaint bookstore, which was filled to the brim with schoolchildren and their parents.

Ginny and Hermione steered Rose, Albus, and James toward an employee while the dads took Hugo and Lily to the wizard children's section nearby. Lily was cooing over a thin chapter book titled _Pink Sparkles the Unicorn is a Seeker! _with animated full-color images of a unicorn riding a broomstick, hot in pursuit of pink-colored Snitch; and Hugo was excitedly paging through an illustrated (and animated with moving arrows to show exactly how things were put together) informational book titled _Magic Messengers, Majigraphs, and More—Easy Explanations of Magical Gadgets for Kids!_

Albus focused his attention on the employee as he took his school supply list. "Ah, let's see," said the employee, flipping through the lists feverishly, one eye focused on Albus's father by the children's section. "_Transfiguration Applications _for Grade 1 and Grade 2. Two first years and one second year? All right, come with me, please…"

As the minutes stacked up on top of one another, so did the books. Once the amount became too much to comfortably carry, Ginny and Hermione started to stuff the school books in their bottomless purses—Albus was sure his mother had a full table stuffed in that purse, and his aunt probably had a _house _(or at least a tent of some sort) in hers.

Additionally, the employee who was getting their books for them was determined to get an insider's look of the famous family, and he seemed under the impression that asking Albus would be wiser than asking one of the mothers. "So," said the employee slyly to Albus while Ginny and Hermione were preoccupied with shoving _A History of Magic: 21st Century Edition _into their purses, "you look a lot like your dad. Great man, he was. He _is_, I mean. How's he doing?"

"Don't bother with asking me. You can ask him; he's in the children's section," said Albus dryly, looking away and ignoring the employee's persistent attempts to get him to blab.

He was used to adults cooing at him and complimenting him in order to get the dirt on his family. They thought he was stupid, impressionable, easy to coax into spilling family secrets. But he wasn't a normal kid. James and Lily had accidentally revealed more stuff to strangers than Albus had; he was the one Potter child who had proper street smarts. Thanks to his ability to see auras, he knew when to keep his head down and shut up, and it was why he was largely ignored by the wizarding world at large.

And he wouldn't have it any other way—at least he was pretty sure he wouldn't.

"All right, we've got all our books," said Hermione, once they had finished getting _The Meaning of the Stars in the Sky_. "Ginny, could you get the men while I pay?"

"Sure," said Ginny, dropping a sack of galleons into Hermione's hand. "Albus, Rose, James, you can browse for books for fifteen minutes. I want you by the counter no later than that, got it? I'm getting your dads and your siblings. Don't make us wait!"

Glad to be set free, if only for a few minutes, Albus made his way to a shelf of colorful brochures and pamphlets. Albus scanned them, his eyes skipping over a brochure on Curse Breaking and another one on applying for Britain's Next Top Witch. However, one pamphlet on the Talent Search caught his eye. He picked it up and unfolded it, delighting in the moving pictures and arrows that allowed him to peruse the pages in the pamphlet with ease. He finally arrived on the page he wanted.

_THE TALENT SEARCH: A BRIEF OVERVIEW_

_The Talent Search, the most successful international competition in wizarding history, was devised by Eugene Reinhold, the current headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Eugene Reinhold hoped for a wizarding academic system that all countries could follow and wanted an opportunity for students to find out where they stood on both continental and global scales._

_The Talent Search was an immediate success and helped jumpstart the magical careers of some of the most influential young people in the modern world, the most famous of which include Axel Arion of Britain, Shing Xu of China, Juanita Chavez of Mexico, Rohan Gupta of India, and Abby Carter of South Africa._

_Since its start in 2003, over a million wizard and witch teenagers have participated, making it the most widely-known competition of its time. It visits a different school from each continent every year, including Europe, Asia, Australia, North America, South America, and Africa…_

Albus put the pamphlet back on its shelf before he was finished with reading it. He was going to be hearing far too much about the Talent Search. It was coming to Hogwarts this year, and the student with the highest point total in the tournament would be declared the winner of the year. The winner then would be compared to winners of other continents and past competitions and would be ranked again, this time gaining a place among the cream of the cream.

Albus's turned a page of the pamphlet to survey the pictures of past winners. The one at the very top of the glossy page was Axel Arion, who had been the youngest-ever and first-ever winner. In the picture, he was only thirteen—the age at which he had won—his smile slightly crooked, but his eyes sharp. Arion was now twenty-seven, in his prime, and after he had won the Talent Search he had gone on to practically give wizardkind a whole new name. This almost-godlike figure could do types of magic that had been previously unheard of, had invented so many new magical instruments and spells that an entire section in the Department of Mysteries was devoted to his experiments, and had risen so high in the government that no decision could be made before first asking his opinion.

Albus turned back to the cover page. He traced his fingers feverishly over the words _Talent Search, _once more indulging in one of his most secret dreams. Winning the Search and continuing to rise to the top of the world, just like his idol, Axel Arion. He knew he was intelligent enough. Ever since he could crawl he had sought out books, and with his near-photographic memory, his brain soaked up information like a giant-sized sponge.

But how could he win? He was do-nothing Albus, the pitied and useless son of Harry Potter. He was practically a Squib and had never shown magic in his entire life. In addition, he was so weak that he couldn't take three steps without having to drink his medicine. He gritted his teeth in anger, and he clenched his fists, crumpling the delicate pamphlet. An employee glared at him, but Albus disappeared into the crowd inside the store before he could be scolded.

Somehow he found himself in the very back of the store, near the Hogwarts books section. His mother and aunt were animatedly discussing what extra practice workbooks to buy, making urgent hand gestures and pointing out practice workbooks on Multivariable Arithmancy, Biofiguratus, and Majigraph Programming.

Unfortunately, his mother spotted him and waved him over, but Albus, not wanting to discuss "Biofiguratus" with her, made a run for it. To his horror, he smacked straight into someone—someone who was very soft and tiny.

Whoever it was gave a small "_oof_" of surprise, and Albus grabbed onto a nearby bookshelf to help steady himself, paying no mind to the person he'd knocked over. He sighed, relieved to have saved himself, and looked down to say sorry to the person now on the ground.

His first thought was that he'd knocked a large porcelain doll over, because this cute, tiny girl with blond curls could not be real. So, instead of apologizing to her right away, Albus merely stared at her, in complete shock.

The girl groaned and rubbed at her elbow, which had taken the brunt of her fall. She looked up at him, and Albus was both awed and terrified to see the expression of murderous rage on her face. He didn't need to see her red aura to know that she was pissed off. "So, Glasses Boy," she said, in a voice simmering with barely-controlled fury, "are you going to say sorry, or am I going to have to open your mouth for you?"

Albus continued to stare, struck dumb.

The girl _growled_ at him. It was an honest-to-God growl, like a wildcat's. Could girls that small even growl? Albus had been under the impression that they were only capable of giggling and whining.

"OI! Do you have a brain up there, or is it filled with dead flies?" barked the girl, struggling to her feet. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders, if that. She raised a hand to adjust the blue bow in her hair.

Albus's face heated up. The smart thing to do would have been to apologize to her and leave, but he wouldn't let his pride get injured so easily. "It wasn't my fault," he said. "And you don't have any right to talk to me like that. _You_ ran into _me _just as much as I ran into you."

The girl widened her eyes in indignation, her red aura growing so dark that it was almost black. "Really? Are you using five-year-old tactics now?"

Albus gritted his teeth. Why did the girl have an edge on him? He wasn't going to lose this argument, damn it! "I had a good reason to be running. _You_ should have seen me coming."

"So now you're trying to pin the blame on me!" she screeched, balling up her fists as though she were preparing for a fight. Her aura went back to a bright red, nearly blinding him.

"Pin the blame on you?" said Albus with an innocent grin, squinting at her through her blazing aura. "How can I pin the blame on you when it was already on you in the first place?"

"What's going on here?" said a calm voice. A boy, just about Albus and the girl's age, walked over. He looked nothing like the girl, with his thin, long face, smooth silvery-white hair, and the strangest reddish eyes. He wore rectangular, wire-rimmed glasses. Albus guessed from his odd coloring that he was albino. Pondering this, Albus watched him stop beside the girl. He clearly knew her.

"Nothing," said Albus, deciding now was the time to make his exit. He surreptitiously slipped away before the boy could properly look at him.

"I just got rudely knocked over. And the person who did it didn't even apologize," said the girl in answer to a question by the albino boy that Albus hadn't heard.

The white-haired, milk-skinned boy's reddish eyes tracked Albus's path to the counter. He let out a small gasp, his aura going a bright purple with surprise, and nudged the girl, pointing at Albus. "That's… I think that's… Harry Potter's son."

The girl froze, her aura going orange-pink with embarassment. "_What?_"

Albus sprinted the rest of the way to the counter, where his family was waiting.

"What took you so long?" said his mother irritably. "We were just about to leave without you."

"Anyway," said Hermione, gently changing the subject, "we're going to go to Slug and Jiggers Apothecary next, then Potage's Cauldron Shop, then Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. After all that, we'll go to Madam Malkin's and Ollivander's Wand Shop. Sound good?"

"Can we leave already?" whined Hugo. He was clutching a large encyclopedia to his chest like it was his baby.

Heeding Hugo's request, the group of nine left the bookstore. Thirty minutes later, Albus was already convinced that shopping was the equivalent of being burned at the stake. At least it hadn't been a complete waste of his time because he'd been able to play around with some of the ingredients in Slug and Jiggers, but otherwise it had been a bore. To his great relief, the only things left to be checked off their booklists now were their robes and wands. They found themselves at Quality Quidditch Supplies, which was on the way to Madam Malkin's.

"Look! That's the new _Skyshaker_!" shouted James, gesturing wildly toward the shiny, state-of-the-art broomstick on display. "You're going to get that for me on my birthday this November, right? I was the only one since Dad to make it onto a Quidditch team in my first year! Come on! You HAVE to get this for me! Please, please, please—"

"All right, all right, we'll get it for your birthday," sighed Ginny. "But only because you're such a good Quidditch player."

"I'm not only good—I'm the _best_!" bragged James, puffing out his chest.

Albus kicked the ground, depressed. His Healers had forbidden him from "dangerous physical activity," which was apparently synonymous to Quidditch. He'd had to spend every holiday watching all of his relatives play what was dubbed the "family sport," and the one time he'd tried to fly he'd thrown up all over Uncle Charlie's shoes. The mere mention of the incident still mortified him.

When they had left Quality Quidditch Supplies, Hermione dragged them into a fairly new store called Magitech to check out the newest high-tech magical appliances. Albus eyed the glossy screens of 7D televisions, which were advertised by the following phrase:

**WANT THAT PIECE OF CHOCOLATE ON THE SCREEN? **

**WELL, JUST REACH IN AND GRAB IT! **

**7D TV—SO MAGICAL THAT YOU CAN ****_TASTE_**** IT!**

Once Hermione was finished doting on the Majigraphs, which she compared to Muggle "computers," whatever those were, Albus and his family set course for Magical Menagerie, where they'd be buying Albus a new pet. His parents had promised to get him an owl when he went to Hogwarts, and he had been looking forward to getting it for years.

Bursting with excitement, Albus entered Magical Menagerie, only to have his nose assaulted by strange smells. He approached the area with the owls while his parents and the rest meandered by the lizard cages.

Albus started to scope the owl cages for just the right owl. To his annoyance, none of them really seemed to "click" with him. Not sure what to do, he started to walk back to where his parents were, but then caught sight of something suspicious. A cage was lying, broken and empty, near the wall. Clearly, some animal had escaped from there.

Albus turned around slowly, on alert. Whatever this animal was, it was clearly a formidable enemy if it had been able to get out of its cage. Suddenly, making him cry out, talons dug into his shoulders, and he felt something very heavy land on his scrawny shoulder, something that was heavy enough to make him stumble.

Fearing for his life, Albus turned his head to come face to face with the ugliest yet most magnificent owl he'd ever seen. Huge, wise amber eyes stared out at from a scarred, squashed, and rather off-center face, and devilish horns sprouted from top of the owl's head. The feathers were a magnificent mix of browns, blacks, grays, and whites. Albus wasn't sure whether to scream in disgust or coo in admiration. He was leaning towards the latter, because the owl's aura was a curious orange.

The saleslady who was patrolling the aisles made her way to him. "Oh, I see you've found him. This is Sicarius, a real fighter, and a Great Horned Owl."

"What… what happened to his face?" asked Albus, trying to move as little as possible so as not to disturb the glorious creature that was on his shoulder.

The saleslady chuckled. "The legend goes that he used to belong to an owner who used him as an assassin, and one of his missions went terribly wrong.

Albus's eyes widened in interest. "Really?"

"That's the story, anyway," said the saleslady with a grim smile. "I wouldn't suggest someone as young as yourself buying him though, if you're thinking about it. He's… untamed. And clever."

"I want him," said Albus firmly, having already made up his mind.

He brought the owl to the counter to pay, and his parents joined him, all the while giving him looks that plainly told him that they feared for his sanity. "Why did you get such a… sinister looking thing?" asked Ginny.

"You could have gotten a nice snowy owl," said Harry wistfully.

"I want Sicarius," said Albus firmly.

"He already has a name?" said Lily, looking at the owl with both awe and fear.

"That's right," said Albus, sticking his nose in the air. "Bow down before the mighty Sicarius, the legendary bird assassin!"

James sidled over. "More like he got off worse in a fight and is bitter about it," he sniggered. Sicarius gave James a look of the deepest hatred, or maybe his disfigured face simply looked that way. But there was no doubt that his amber eyes grew bigger and resembled spheres of flame.

"If you _do_ decide to kill James, I have no complaints," said Albus generously to Sicarius, making James's face turn white and his aura turn bluish-black.

Once Rose had brought her pet, a cute little gray kitten that she named Ashes, the family left the pet store and made their way to Ollivander's. When they finally got there, Albus's jaw dropped. The shop was huge, spanning the entire north end of Diagon Alley. He could see countless wands through the large windows.

"Merlin, I forgot how different this place looks," chuckled Harry. "A while ago, it was owned by Garrick Ollivander. But now his son, Garnock, took over after his death a few years back. He completely revolutionized the place, and wandlore, too."

"Of course," said Hermione. "I mean, combining multiple cores and woods into one wand definitely ups the quality of the wand. And it also doesn't hurt that he uses a better variety of cores than his father did. He's the best modern wandmaker, that's for sure."

The bell on the door rang as the family entered the wand shop. Albus blinked rapidly, shocked by the rows up rows of wands. He also saw great blue holographic screens—Majigraphs?—hovering against one wall. There were also small cubicles with weighing machines inside—Magic Measurers?—laid out in a line beside the Majigraphs.

Albus jerked his head away from the countless rows of wands when he heard the jovial voice reverberate throughout the wand shop—or perhaps, the wand department store, because calling it a "shop" was akin to calling a glacier an ice cube.

"Welcome, welcome! Harry Potter, it's nice to see you again! I remember meeting you last year to exchange memories about my father. He thought very highly of you; it's such a shame that he died," said the man who had spoken. He was tall and thin and young, with wispy blond hair and silvery-gray eyes.

Harry smiled and nodded at him, and the wandmaker and the war hero exchanged a few more pleasantries before Ollivander turned to face the group of children and said, "So, who's buying wands today?"

"These two," said Ron, pointing at Rose and Albus.

"Excellent," said Ollivander, smiling brightly at Rose and Albus. "I will call one of my assistants for each of you, and they will walk you through the process."

Ollivander walked back a few paces, ducked into an aisle, and shouted, "ANNETTE!"

A twenty-year-old woman with short blond hair hurried out of the aisle, presumably one of his assistants. "Yes, Mr. Ollivander?"

"Take Miss Weasley here to get her wand; I believe Station 4 is open," said Ollivander, gesturing to Rose. "And Annette, do you know whether any of the other assistants are free?"

"Perseus is busy testing the prototypes," said Annette, "and the rest of them are at the stations or already in the aisles with other students buying wands." She shrugged apologetically and led Rose to one of the stations, each of which was equipped with a Majigraph and a Magic Measurer.

Ollivander sighed, "Oh, such a busy day today. I can't believe all the other assistants are taken. Well, then, Mr. Potter, I suppose you'll be coming with me. Let's go."

Albus looked at his father, who nodded encouragingly, and followed Ollivander into the large wand department store. He looked around, awed, at the shelves upon shelves of wands. "We'll be going to Station 7," said Ollivander, jerking Albus out of his thoughts. "It's the only available station at the moment."

It appeared that Station 7 was the very last one in the line. Albus looked at the other stations, which were separated by a thin, translucent wall, and saw that they looked identical to his. On his left was a small Magic Measurer, and straight in front of him was a Majigraph, the pulsing blue screen of which indicated that it was on but not active. A small black chair was positioned in front of the Majigraph, and when Albus sat on it, it automatically adjusted its height so that he could see straight into the Majigraph.

"So, Mr. Potter, what do you know about the modern wands we make?" asked Ollivander.

Albus knew all about them—he had carefully researched the process on how to make such wands and how they worked—but it couldn't hurt to know more. So he shook his head.

"Very well, I will tell you the basics. The wand of the twenty-first century is very different from parents', as it's far more advanced, but it has some of the same basics. A wand, as you know, acts to channel your magical energy. All wizards have a different magic capacity; some of you may be more magically powerful, some less. You are born with the ability to harness a set maximum amount of magic, and each wand is also capable of channeling a certain amount of magic.

"Some wands can channel more, and some less. Because we don't want a wand that can channel lots of magic to be used by a wizard that doesn't have as much magic to channel, we make sure the Power Level of the wand and the Magic Level of the wizard match up. We also want to make sure that a wand with an aggressive personality isn't used by a calm wizard, because the result could be pretty ugly.

"So, to give you a better idea of a modern wand, I'll show you one of the wands." Ollivander reached into his pocket and took out a wand, then held it out for Albus to examine.

"Every wand has a core and wood of some type, that's a given. But nowadays, in order to increase the power of the wand, we have started to give wands two cores and two woods. These are called 'double-cores' and 'double-woods.' Every wand also has an Element." Ollivander pointed to the handle of his wand, where Albus could see a tiny red jewel shimmering. "The color of the small jewel tells you your Element. This one here is red, so it's Fire. Other Elements besides Fire are Earth, Water, Air, Energy, Shadow, and Time, and there are seven in total. Depending on your Element, you will be able to do certain spells better.

"A common misconception is that you get to choose a wand. That's not true. The wand chooses the wizard, and there is a wand out there for everybody. However, if you went around trying every wand in the store, it would take years for you to find your wand. In order shorten the possible list of wands, I'm going to ask you to be analyzed by the Majigraph. You don't have to do anything but sit still. It's kind of like having a Muggle X-ray."

Albus didn't quite know what an X-ray was, but he nodded anyway.

Ollivander continued. "Once it has analyzed you, the Majigraph will give me a list of possible wand call numbers and will list the Percentage of Success next to them, telling me how well the wizard and wand match up. For example, if a wand as a sixty-seven percent success rate, then there is a fairly high chance that the wand will work for that wizard. However, to know for sure, you must try out the wand, but that will only come at the very end. Got that?"

Albus nodded. He'd tuned out most of the long introduction, but had gotten the gist of it anyway.

"First, let's measure your Magic Level," said Ollivander, pointing to the small telephone-box like compartment that was the Magic Measurer. "As you probably know, Magic Levels are on a one-to-ten scale. Squibs are Level Two wizards and below, average wizards are between Level Three and Level Seven. Level Eight to Level Ten are powerful wizards. And there's also Level Ten Plus, which is a level that's so high it cannot be precisely measured by the magitechnology we have today.

"A few decades ago, we didn't have this system of Magic Levels, but we developed it for assigning wands to wizards and other technical reasons. There are also Spell Strength Levels and all, but I can see I'm boring you—"

Albus interrupted, "Mr. Ollivander? I'm sorry, but I don't think I should go on the Magic Measurer. The first time I was measured on one of them, I broke it. I don't want to have to owe you a new Magic Measurer."

Ollivander looked unsettled. "Well I suppose, if you broke it when you were young, you had too much magic for it to measure, meaning that you were a Level Ten Plus."

_Doubt it, _thought Albus, thinking of his complete lack of magical talent. Maybe he'd had so little magic that the Magic Measurer had combusted from sheer shame.

"How strange… I've had two more customers today who were Level Ten Pluses. There have only been a handful of Level Ten Pluses in the last century, and I get three in one day…," Ollivander muttered to himself. "This must be an especially powerful generation."

Albus shrugged, not sure what he was supposed to say to this.

"In any case, you still need to be analyzed by the Majigraph, so if you could sit still…" Ollivander reached over to a couple of smoky, silvery strings that were hanging on a hook beside the blue screen and attached them to Albus's forehead, making them jump. The strings had a sort of suction-cup-looking thing on the ends, and the sensation of them sticking to his skin was quite strange.

"You can keep your eyes open if you want, but you don't have to. You'll feel a bit tickly, but try not to move too much."

Albus, opting to keep his eyes open, stared at the sleepy blue screen of the Majigraph. Ollivander took out his wand and swished it, jumpstarting the Majigraph. The screen blazed so brightly for a moment that Albus automatically scrunched his eyes closed. He felt a tingling sensation start from the center of his chest and travel outward, giving him the urge to itch.

But as soon as the urge came, it was gone. A flash of images, words, and numbers flashed in front of Albus's eyes in the split second after the tingling stopped and the bright light burning behind his eyelids faded away. _Male. Black hair. Green eyes. Caucasian. Vision: shortsighted, -4.25. Ability to see on secondary planes of magic. Height: four feet seven inches. Weight: seventy pounds. Birthdate: July 1st, 2006. Left handed. Wand Personality: ambitious, aggressive, combative._

Albus opened his eyes. The harsh white light had returned to a calm blue, though the screen wasn't blank: on it were various numbers and percentages: the wands and the chance that they'd choose him.

"Very good, very good," encouraged Ollivander. "You did admirably. I can see now what wands could possible fit you. Come with me, please."

Albus stood up, letting Ollivander lead him deep into the store, taking him to aisle after aisle and giving him countless wands to try. There was a huge variety, but for some reason, he was unable to elicit the slightest response from any of them.

"Twelve inches. Single wood of birch, with cores of crup hair, and manticore blood. Level Ten. Element is Earth."

_Nothing. _Albus felt faintly nervous.

"Ten and a half inches. A double-wood: cherry and beech. Unicorn horn powder and hippogriff feather double-cores. Very springy and adaptable. Element is Air. Level Nine."

_Nada. _Albus gulped.

"Eleven and a quarter inches. Single wood of pine; cores of re'em hair and pixie wing. Very dependable and firm. Element is Water. Level Ten."

_Goose egg. _Albus was now seriously about to panic.

Countless of wands like these were tried then thrown aside, all of them unhappy with Albus. Soon, an hour had passed. Ollivander, exhausted, returned to the front, where Albus's parents were impatiently waiting, their auras orange-red with irritation. Albus felt a rock settle in his stomach.

"What's taking so long?" asked Ginny. "Rose has been done for ages."

Albus looked at Rose, who was telling her parents about her new wand a mile a minute. "Nine-and-a-quarter inches, apple wood with dragon scale and re'em hair cores. It's very pliable and unyielding, and it's for a strong-willed owner. Its Element is Earth, and it's Level Nine!

"Oh, and the assistant also told me that I'd find Transfiguration to be my strongest subject, but Charms my weakest. Earth-based spells will also be my strong suit, obviously. The assistant also said that I might want to stay away from wishy-washy types of spells, or spells that could go one way or the other easily. They said that my wand and I are very strong and deep-rooted, and those wishy-washy types of spells will be much harder for me to do. The assistant said that this wand is really calm and relies on knowledge, logic, and preparation to fight well, not luck or random bursts of anger! Isn't it amazing how they know so much about me just by knowing my wand?"

His heart sinking, Albus turned back to his parents. "None of the wands work," he said, trying his hardest not to let his parents see that his eyes were wet. He shouldn't have been surprised. He was a freak, after all.

Harry looked shocked. "That's not true. The wand chooses the wizard. There'll always be a wand—"

"Yeah? Well, every wand hates me!" interrupted Albus, resisting the urge to burst into tears.

"What do you suggest we do?" asked Harry, turning to Ollivander anxiously. "Should we find another wandmaker, or should we order a custom wand?"

Ollivander considered. "There are other possibilities. You may know that we are developing extremely advanced wands, a level higher than the double-cores and double-woods. You may also know that triple-cores and triple-wood wands are also in development. I believe that if your son is unable to be chosen by any of the normal wands, he can try out an unstable triple-cored sample. The wand, obviously, wouldn't completely match him, but whatever discomfort it causes will be negated by its power. What do you think?"

Harry turned to Albus. "It's up to you."

Albus's lip trembled. "I don't know if I'm a wizard, Dad. I haven't ever done magic. I think that this is a sign that I'm not a wizard."

Ollivander looked utterly horrified by this revelation. "You broke the Magic Measurer as a baby but have _never done magic_? Impossible. It is impossible."

Everyone ignored him.

Harry said, trying to calm Albus down, "That's not true. You were accepted at Hogwarts. You must be a wizard."

"A really bad wizard, then!" said Albus heatedly.

"Just try the triple-cored sample," said Ginny. "It might not work, but just _try _it."

Albus finally nodded. "Okay." He turned to Ollivander meekly. "Sorry about this."

"Quite all right," said Ollivander, though he was looking at Harry. "I shall be back in a moment with a wand for you to try."

Albus waited nervously beside his parents, playing with his fingers. He knew this wasn't going to work. He just knew. An even more powerful wand was even less likely to work than a normal wand! What were his parents and Ollivander thinking?

At last, Ollivander approached and Albus and his parents eagerly walked over to him, hoping to catch a glimpse of the wand.

"It took a while, but I finally got access to the most bizarre wand we have, and the most unstable and dangerous wand we've ever let a customer try," said Ollivander. "Not something I recommend, but it seems to be only wand that has even the slimmest chance of choosing you."

Albus, who wasn't listening, stretched out for the wand's thin, black box, but Ollivander held it out of his reach.

"This wand here is what is called a 'miracle wand.' It is a master at channeling magic. Most wands depend on the user's ability to collect magic, which the wand can then channel. However, this miracle wand that I am about to show you works a bit differently. It does not require the wizard to collect magic—it merely dives into a wizard's natural magical reserves. Sometimes you'll find that wizards have an extremely concentrated amount of magic, making it dangerous for wands to extract it. A miracle wand can extract it straight from the natural reserves of magic deep inside some wizards' bodies.

"But I warn you, these types of triple-cored wands are still under heavy development. If I do allow you to buy this one, it will cost extra money, and you must tell someone immediately if you experience any unfavorable side effects." Finally, Ollivander held out the wand's box.

Albus took it with shaking hands and took off the cover, then gasped. It was beautiful, made of two different shades of wood: one blood red and the other a mottled orange. A golden jewel was embedded in the handle of the wand, which was fashionably twisted. "Wow."

"Ten inches. Woods: padauk and yew. Cores: basilisk heartstring, phoenix tears, and chimaera scale. Brittle. This wand will work best for inventors or idealists, one who is driven and has plenty of ambitions. The owner will tread a thin line between good and evil, which is probably because the wand is so unstable. Its Element is Energy."

Albus nodded quickly, his hand itching to take the wand. Ollivander gave him the say-so, and Albus gently picked up the wand. The moment his fingers made contact, he was consumed by an exhilarating rush. Raw power ran through his veins, so terrible and real that it almost hurt. The wand had an electric feel to it; Albus's whole body would not stop tingling.

_CRACK!_

Albus, whose eyes had closed automatically while he'd been holding the wand, was surprised to discover that there were cracks on the floor in a cobweb fashion, looking as though they had emanated from the spot where he stood.

He stood there, shocked. For the first time in his life, he had done magic. He stared at the cracks, unable to believe that they were there. After a full minute had passed in which nobody said anything, he drew up the courage to mumble, "Um, I'm sorry, but I think I broke the floor."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, they had gotten all their bags together and were at the Leaky Cauldron, sharing a cup of tea with Hannah and Neville. Their topic today was, of course, academics. It seemed to be all that grown-ups wanted to talk about.

Neville was urgently waving his hands around as he spoke, completely neglecting his tea.

"Did you know that they're teaching nonverbal spells to third years?" he said. "They're shifting the OWL and NEWT requirements. After the magic boom in 2000, they think the kids are capable of a lot more magic. I wasn't sure whether to agree or not. I mean, it's true that all of the children born after 2000 had way more magic, but should this mean we put so much pressure on them?"

Hermione dipped a biscuit into her tea.

"It's not 'pressure' if they can do it with ease," she said. "Wandlore is far more advanced now, and obviously they're being born with more magic. They're fully capable of nonverbal spells by third year and perhaps even Wandless Magic by seventh year. It's time we give the wizarding society a push. We've been stagnant for too long. Look at the Muggles! They have laptops and smartphones and all that! And where are we? Still using ink, that's where! Thank goodness that we've invented Majigraphs and Magic Messengers and the 7D televisions are becoming more widespread—we're finally catching up."

"I think you're right that we can learn from Muggles," said Harry, who had long since finished his tea. "We've thought them as less civilized than us, but they're more powerful in countless ways. Their technology can do nearly as much as magic can, and they outnumber us a hundred to one."

"Calm down," chuckled Ron, who was eating the biscuits dry. "It's not going to come to a war between Muggles and wizards."

All the adults shared a laugh at this.

Albus looked sideways to see that Lily had fallen asleep, her tea untouched. He brought his cup of tea to his lips, noticing that the tea had cooled slightly. He put his head down on the table, trying to pretend he wasn't listening like the other children, but in reality he focused on every word.

"But seriously," said Hermione, "it's also a good thing that Hogwarts and other wizarding schools are promoting academic excellence. All the tests, advanced courses, and tournaments will encourage the kids to work harder, and that will lead to more advancement. This way, it's unlikely that the wizarding world will be left in the dust by the Muggle world."

"I realize that now that the Pureblood's regime has ended, Muggles are no longer being underestimated," said Ginny. "We used to laugh in the face of technology, but now we admire it, and are trying to copy it using magic."

"That's what Axel Arion is trying to do," said Hermione, her eyes going starry as they always did whenever she mentioned the handsome, powerful young man.

Ron snorted, his aura going an emerald green that Albus associated with jealousy.

Hermione gave him a scathing look. "Axel is—"

"Since when are you and Arion on first-name basis?" said Ron in outrage, his aura fluctuating between green and red at alarming speed.

Hermione ignored him, though she had the good grace to blush. "As I was saying, _Arion_ is working on combining technology and magic to form a third sort of power. You know that project on wizards' genetic codes they were working on eleven years ago? He's trying to expand on that. He's working obsessively on it."

"That project went terribly wrong, I heard," said Hannah. "Neville said that Eugene Reinhold said that the Department of Mysteries was closing the book on it. What happened?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's classified information. I wasn't told. All I know is that they came close to genetically engineering the perfect wizard, but failed in the end with dire consequences. If they do crack the code… well, then, wizardkind will have no barriers."

"We should really get going," said Ginny, noticing that both Hugo and Lily, their auras plain white with dreamless sleep, were drooling all over the table. "It's way past Lily's and Hugo's bedtimes."

As Hannah left to get the Floo powder, Albus mulled over what he had heard, still holding his cup of cold tea. From the advanced magic that was being discovered in the revolutionized Ministry and the tournaments taking place in the new-and-improved Hogwarts, he surmised that the wizarding world was climbing higher and higher, destroying every obstacle in its path. Magic was reaching its highest point, and the future couldn't look any brighter than it already did.

He couldn't shake off a feeling of foreboding, though.

_After every society's peak, isn't there a fall? _wondered Albus. And as wizardkind—and humankind in general—got more ambitious and climbed higher and higher, wouldn't the inevitable fall be more deadly?

Then why weren't they bracing themselves for it?

* * *

**Next update: November 29th, two weeks from now. This biweekly schedule will continue to hold for a few months, or at least until I am significantly ahead in writing.**


	3. Chocolate Frog Cards

**HAPPY THANKSGIVING! Here's an early update (by one day) so that I can thank you all for being amazing readers!**

**Author's Note: Thanks for reviewing! I'm trying to reply to all of your reviews, but if for some reason I forget to do so it's nothing personal. Also, I do not own a large amount of the conversation at the train station; that is taken from the Epilogue of Deathly Hallows. I did not write most of Harry's chocolate frog card as well; JK Rowling wrote it, I believe.**

* * *

**-CHAPTER THREE-**

**CHOCOLATE FROG CARDS**

The night before September 1st, Albus did not get any sleep at all. His heart was in overdrive, beating at a rapid pace, too excited to slow down and allow him to sleep. He left his bed at seven o'clock, feeling distinctly unrested, eyes red and bleary. He blundered around in half-blindness, failed at combing his hair, and dressed in a plain Muggle T-shirt and jeans in preparation for the ride to King's Cross.

He started his last-minute packing, hurriedly throwing books and clothes into his open trunk. The cage of his new owl, Sicarius, was on the ground, its occupant sleeping. Albus shoved half of the medicine bottles that he needed to take to Hogwarts into his trunk and the other half of them into his knapsack, then walked back to his bedside table, where his wand lay. He took it out of its box, ran a hand over the smooth, beautiful wood, and slipped it inside his pocket. Then he closed his trunk, took a deep breath, and went down the stairs, fingering the wand in his pocket along the way.

He hadn't been able to do any more magic this summer, unfortunately enough. His father had tried to teach him some simple spells, (even though it was technically against the law it was to practice magic before you went to school) but Albus hadn't been able to perform any of them. It was frustrating him to no end, because now he had proof that he was a wizard. But it made no difference; he still couldn't do magic. He knew he would be in a world of pain when he arrived at the highly competitive Hogwarts, but he didn't want to think about that right now.

The kitchen was in complete chaos. Artemisia, the family owl, had gotten into the pumpkin juice, and James's hands were all over the maple syrup as he shoved pancake after pancake into his mouth. Albus's mother's hair was wild and uncombed, as if she had been too much of a hurry to bother to run a brush through it, and his father's glasses were slipping down his nose as he scanned the morning _Prophet_.

But the main source of the noise was Lily's wailing.

Her aura blue-violet with distress, she screeched, "I can't _believe_ it! I can't believe I'll be left alone for two years! Why aren't I old enough? Mum, this is the Great Hippogriff's fault! If he hadn't brought me to you in a sack two whole years after Albus and three years after James, I'd have been able to go to Hogwarts sooner!"

Lily had not yet been told by her parents that it was not the Great Hippogriff who had delivered her in a sack to the doorstep as a baby, and they were quite regretting their decision not to give her the "when a witch and a wizard love each other very much" speech. Albus thought that they should get on with it, as Lily kept on getting stupider and stupider every day.

"Hey, at least you won't be a Slytherin like Albus," said James offhandedly after swallowing a mouthful of his pancake.

Albus knocked over the jug of pumpkin juice and caused Artemisia the owl to squawk loudly and nip his finger. The sole noise was startling loud; silence had otherwise descended on the kitchen. Harry's face was utterly white, and Ginny's eye was twitching.

Albus fumed, his face turning red. Nobody had ever accused him of becoming a Slytherin. In his family, it was the ultimate insult, the worst thing to say. His being in Slytherin was nonsense, utter nonsense. He, like every other member of his family, would be a Gryffindor. It was how it worked. It ran in his blood.

And he would _never_ join Slytherin. Not only because he didn't agree with their morals, but also because it would be social suicide to do so. Slytherins were mistrusted and automatically under suspicion, though the prejudice against them was not so bad now as it once was when the war had been fresh in everyone's minds.

"You can shut up," he snarled at James, his fingers twisting the tablecloth almost unconsciously.

"What? It's obvious that you're one. Honestly, can't you see it?" said James innocently, aura brownish-green with malice, as always.

"James, that's enough," said Ginny. "Al won't be a Slytherin. And if he is, it's not such a big deal."

Albus judged from the tightness of her lips—and her suddenly ice-blue aura—that this was a lie.

"He's going to be a Slytherin," trilled James, waving his fork in the air.

"Don't listen to him, Al," said his father quickly, his aura gray. "He's just trying to get on your nerves. And it doesn't matter if you're a Slytherin."

"Why do you keep insisting that it doesn't matter if it doesn't?" said Albus angrily.

"Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin," James began to chant, pounding his fists rhythmically on the table.

"Stop this nonsense," hissed Ginny.

"James, seriously, cut it out!" said Harry, to no avail.

Blood was pounding in Albus's ears. His fists were clenched, his teeth gritted, every muscle in his body tense and ready to strike. There was a silver glint in his eyes as he stared down at the table. The wand in his pocket pulsed; he could feel it twitch against his thigh. And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, shockingly, but for the second time that summer—

_CRACK!_

The entire table broke in clean in half as if some invisible pressure had been put on it. Bowls and cutlery slid down the separate ends of the table, the glasses crashing to the ground and shattering on impact.

There was dead silence for a whole minute. Everyone slowly turned to look at Albus, something accusatory in their eyes.

Albus blushed under their gazes. "I did magic again, at least."

* * *

Albus hated, hated, _hated_ car rides. Puke-prevention potions never worked on him, so he had to spend the entire car ride throwing up into a paper bag while James and Lily complained about how he was a sissy who could never keep his breakfast down.

James had taken a break from saying that Albus should have to walk to King's Cross and was now saying, "Did you know, I heard the seventh-years saying that the ragging is the worst for Slytherins. I heard they get their heads forced down Moaning Myrtle's toilet," he whispered so their parents couldn't hear him.

The car jostled, and a fresh pile of goo was added to the paper bag. Albus did not answer; he was a bit too busy puking his insides out.

"Aw, Al, cheer up," said Harry from the driver's seat. "You'll be at Hogwarts soon. It'll be like a second home to you."

Albus scrunched up the top of the paper bag, and handed it to his mother. She muttered "_evanesco,_" making the disgusting contents of the bag disappear, and handed it back to him. He took a great big gulp of water, screwed the cap of the bottle back on, and finally said, "Yeah, I guess so."

"Did you know that they had to get multiple professors for each subject because the year sizes are so large now?" said Ginny. "And also, to encourage the competitive atmosphere, they've also decided to organize the classes based on academic ability. You'll be taking a preliminary exam—they call them the PITs: the Preliminary Intelligence Tests—tomorrow to be put into a class with students who are as skilled as you are.

"And remember," continued Ginny, "this year's the Talent Search. I want both of you to work as hard as you possibly can. Do all of your work, read books when you have free time. Make your Talent Teams early. Take nothing your professors say for granted, and participate in all the tournaments they offer. I'm not sure if they're doing Student of the Month and Dueling Fridays this year, but if they are, I want you to take full advantage of them."

"Yeah, I will," said Albus sarcastically, thinking about his complete lack of magical talent.

The car jerked to a sudden stop, and Albus puked out the remains of his breakfast.

"EW!" shrieked Lily and James at the same time, holding their noses.

Harry sighed and opened the windows.

Ten minutes had gone by in relative peace before James bellowed, without any sort of warning at all, "AL IS GONNA BE IN SLYTHERIN!"

Harry jumped in surprise and lost control of the car for a split second, and it veered dangerously to left before he had gotten it to go straight again. "For Merlin's sake, James, don't take me by surprise like that! It's dangerous. You almost made me crash!"

"For the last _damn _time, I won't be in Slytherin!" snarled Albus, gritting his teeth so loudly that the next car over could probably hear it.

"Al, calm down, and don't use that type of language," said Ginny, her aura a washed-out purple. "James is just teasing."

"Mum, he's a Slytherin. It's so obvious. The Slytherins at Hogwarts are all like him: losers, whiners, and idiots who are too disgusting to fit in anywhere else," gloated James.

Albus, getting violent as he usually did when he was pushed too far, grabbed James's arm and pinched as hard as he could.

"OW! Mum, Al is pinching me!" wailed James.

"AL!" gasped Ginny, whirling around in her seat and taking out her wand.

"Dear Merlin, we can't leave you two alone in the backseat of the car for even a single hour, can we?" groaned Harry. His aura was so gray now that it was almost indistinguishable from the color of the car seats.

"HE STARTED IT!"

"NO, _HE_ STARTED IT!"

"STOP FIGHTING OR I SWEAR I'LL MAKE YOUR FATHER TURN THIS CAR AROUND!" screamed Ginny, her aura turning red at an astonishing speed.

Lily closed her eyes and plugged her ears. Albus would have done the same, but he was rather preoccupied with digging his nails into James's skin, and James was too busy trying to snap Albus's glasses.

One hour later, they finally arrived at King's Cross station. Ginny had a severe headache, and she got out of the stuffy car rather quickly and took a deep breath, massaging her forehead with the tips of her fingers. Albus staggered out next, face green and glasses lopsided, holding his paper bag filled with sick. Harry opened the boot of the car and heaved out the trunks, placing them in two trolleys, one for James and one for Albus, and wheeling them towards the great sooty station. The crisp autumn breeze whipped their hair as they made their way to King's Cross, and Albus breathed in, relishing in the fresh taste of the air.

Lily, who had been quiet the entire ride, decided to play damsel in distress and got her father's arm in a vice-like grip, widening her shining brown eyes and jutting out her bottom lip.

"It won't be long, and you'll be going too," said Harry, taking pity on her and ruffling her red hair.

"Two years," sniffed Lily, her pout becoming more pronounced with every word. "I want to go _now_!"

As Muggles stared at the strangely-shaped packages and the owls in the trolley, Albus was poked rudely by James, who was determined to humiliate him as much as humanely possible.

"Ready to go to the dungeons, Albie-pie?" whispered James.

Albus did not respond. _Maybe if I ignore him, he'll grow bored and leave me alone._

"Albie-pie, Albie-pie, never loved and soon to die," sang James, using his unfortunate aptitude for poetry. "Slytherin, Slytherin, may you cry."

Albus couldn't take it anymore. His voice rose up above the chatter of the rest of the commuters. "I won't! I won't be in Slytherin!"

"James, give it a rest!" said Ginny, still nursing her headache from the car.

"I only said he might be," said James, grinning evilly at Albus. "There's nothing wrong with that. He might be in Slyth—" He saw his mother's warning glare and fell silent.

The five Potters approached the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Albus's hands were slightly sweaty. With an extremely cocky and arrogant look in Albus's direction, James took the trolley from his mother and started to run. A second later, he had vanished into the barrier.

Albus immediately broke out into a heavy sweat. He was going to be leaving his parents behind. No matter what he liked to tell himself, he would miss them terribly. "You'll write to me, won't you?" he said, glad that James wasn't there to make fun of him.

"Every day, if you want us to," Ginny assured him.

"Not every day," said Albus quickly. "James says that most people only get letters from home about once a month." Goodness, he couldn't look more immature than James. _That_ was truly an embarrassment.

"We wrote to James three times a week last year," said Ginny, unknowingly giving Albus valuable blackmail material.

"And you don't want to believe everything he tells you about Hogwarts," Harry put in. "He likes a laugh, your brother."

This was putting it rather lightly. Albus thought James was quite sadistic.

Side by side, the family pushed the second trolley forward, gathering speed. Albus winced as they reached the barrier, but there was no collision. Instead, they emerged onto Platform Nine-and-three-quarters, which was obscured by the thick white steam that was pouring from the scarlet Hogwarts express. Indistinct figures were swarming through the fog, into which, fortunately, James had already disappeared.

"Where are they?" asked Albus, wondering how he was going to find his cousins and aunt and uncle in this thick mist.

"We'll find them," said Ginny as she peered at the hazy figures in the distance, trying to make them out. But the vapor was dense, and it was difficult to make out anybody's faces. Detached from their owners, the voices sounded unnaturally loud and eerie to Albus. He thought he vaguely heard his Uncle Percy's voice, discussing broomstick regulations, and Aunt Audrey's irritating hoot. Thankfully, neither Harry nor Ginny decided to go say hello.

"I think that's them, Al," said Ginny finally, jerking Albus out of his reverie.

A group of four people emerged from the mist like figures from another world, standing alongside the very last carriage. Their faces, thanks to the thick fog, only came into focus when Harry, Ginny, Lily, and Albus had drawn up right up beside them.

"Hi," said Albus to Rose, relieved. He wasn't very close to Rose, or any of his cousins, but it would be torturous to go through his first year without knowing anybody.

"Parked all right, then?" Ron asked Harry. "I did. Hermione didn't believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you? She thought I'd Confund the examiner."

Albus tuned out the rest of the conversation as his father and Ron helped him heave Albus's trunk and Sicarius's cage onto the train. When he returned back to the platform, he heard Lily and Hugo discussing which House they would be sorted into when they finally went to Hogwarts two years later.

Ron, overhearing the conversation, said, "If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you, but no pressure."

"Ron!"

Lily and Hugo laughed, but Albus's stomach dropped to his feet. Rose looked terrified, too; Albus thought she had no reason to be because she was a Gryffindor through and through. Loud, reckless, and often annoyingly bossy, she fit into the family picture without any trouble.

"He doesn't mean it," said Hermione and Ginny to deaf ears, because Ron had turned his attention to three people standing about fifty yards away, easily visible in the suddenly-retracted mist.

"Look who it is."

Albus saw a pale-faced man with a pointy chin and long pale blond hair that reached nearly to his chin exchange a cold, curt nod with Harry and Ron. His son, who had significantly shorter hair, was standing to his right, looking at the ground. A pretty, dark-haired woman with pale blond highlights had a hand on his shoulder, and there was a slight sneer on her face as she regarded the Weasleys and the Potters. All three of the people had jealous emerald green auras.

"So that's little Scorpius," said Ron under his breath. "Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother's brains."

Albus scowled. Rose may have been smart, but that didn't mean that everyone else's intelligence should be ignored, especially Albus's. He knew for a fact that he was smarter than Rose could ever hope to be.

"Ron, for heaven's sake," said Hermione, not fooling anyone with her supposedly stern demeanor. "Don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school!"

"You're right, sorry," said Ron. But unable to stop himself, he added, "Don't get too friendly with him, though, Rosie. Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood."

Rose looked toward "little Scorpius" with renewed interest, twirling a lock of red hair around one manicured finger. Her aura turned a pale pink.

Great. Rose had found a new crush to obsessively pursue. The poor boys in her neighborhood would be relieved.

"Hey!"

Albus let out a soft groan. James had reappeared, probably with new ideas on how to torture his little brother. He had apparently relieved himself of his trunk, owl, and trolley, and was dancing on his feet, evidently desperate to reveal some juicy secret, his aura burning with excitement.

"Teddy's back there," he said breathlessly, pointing over his shoulder into the billowing clouds of steam. "Just seen him! And guess what he's doing? Snogging Victoire!"

There was an amused silence. James gritted his teeth, disappointed that nobody was congratulating him on discovering this groundbreaking news.

"Our Teddy! Teddy Lupin! Snogging our Victoire! Our cousin! I asked Teddy what he was doing—"

Albus momentarily missed his mother's reprimand as he thought sourly, _I think James just likes the sound of his own voice._

"—and he said he'd come to see her off! And then he told me to go away! He's snogging her!"

_Yup, he definitely likes the sound of his own voice, _decided Albus, wondering how much his brother was going to repeat the word "snogging." He seemed obsessed with it, proving that he'd never even been kissed. Albus sniggered, remembering James's wild claims that he had gone out with six girls in his first year.

"Oh, it would be lovely if they got married," whispered Lily, her eyes going starry. "Teddy would really be part of the family then!"

Albus didn't think that Teddy and Victoire would get married anytime soon. Victoire was whiny and clingy and Teddy had a new girlfriend every five seconds. Albus remembered having to sit through the awkward family dinners to which Teddy had brought his girl-of-the-day. His girlfriends, infamous among the family, had included Lying Lara, Dieting Danielle, and Moronic Mackenzie.

"He already comes round for dinner about four times a week," said Harry. "Why don't we just invite him to live with us and have done with it?"

"Yeah!" said James enthusiastically. "I don't mind sharing a room with Al—Teddy could have my room!"

Albus made a gasping, squeaking, and grunting sort of noise that could only be described as a Blast-Ended Skrewt's dying cry.

Thankfully, his father was thinking along the same lines. "No," he said firmly, "you and Al will share a room only when I want the house demolished."

James paused, considering his father's words, appeared to agree, and smirked annoyingly over at Albus, whose heartbeat had only just returned to normal.

Albus glared.

"It's nearly eleven, you'd better get on board," said Harry, jerking his sons out of their glaring contest.

"Don't forget to give Neville our love!" said Ginny, pulling James into an oxygen-depriving hug.

"Mum! I can't give a professor love!" wailed James, blushing furiously while Albus snorted conspicuously into his elbow.

"But you know Neville!"

James rolled his eyes, exasperated with his mother's naivety. "Outside, yeah, but at school he's Professor Longbottom, isn't he? I can't walk into Herbology and give him _love_…"

Then, to Albus's horror, James aimed at a kick at him. He dodged narrowly and gritted his teeth. "See you later, Al. Watch out for the thestrals."

"I thought they were invisible? You said they were invisible!" said Albus, not at all because he was scared, but because he was annoyed that James couldn't keep his facts straight.

James laughed arrogantly, permitted his mother to kiss him, gave his father a quick, embarrassed hug, then leapt onto the rapidly filling train. Albus saw him wave, then sprint away up the corridor to find his friends.

"Thestrals are nothing to worry about," Harry told Albus, apparently having misinterpreted Albus's earlier statement as one of fear. "They're gentle things, there's nothing scary about them. Anyway, you won't be going up to the school in the carriages, you'll be going in the boats."

Albus nodded at his father. Then, to his great annoyance, his mother pulled him into a tight hug and gave him a sloppy kiss. "See you at Christmas."

Albus made a face and wiped the kiss away. Why on earth did his mother kiss him in public? It was mortifying. Then he bit his lip. Perhaps his parents were just worried about him; he was often ill, after all. He looked upon them with new eyes, his bottom lip trembling. He threw himself into his father's arms, holding back tears, shocked at his sudden emotion. He was going to miss them so much it already hurt.

"Bye, Al," said Harry, hugging him back tightly, reluctant to let go. His aura was blue with sadness. "Don't forget Hagrid's invited you to tea next Friday. Don't mess with Peeves. Don't duel anyone till you've learned how. And don't let James wind you up."

Reminded of James's earlier taunts this morning and in the car, Albus whispered, "What if I'm in Slytherin?" He knew his life would be over. It was the worst-case scenario.

Harry crouched down so that they were almost eye-to-eye. Green stared into green. "Albus Severus," he said very quietly, "you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts."

Albus felt like throwing up again. He hated many things, but slot number one on his Hate List was reserved for his name: Albus Severus Potter. _Ugh._ Albus came from Albus Dumbledore, Severus came from Severus Snape, and Potter came from Harry Potter. He was a thief, someone who was using someone else's name. His names were in the history books, but they were not _his. _They did not belong to him.

And the fact that they _never_ truly would belong to him was the worst part.

Harry continued, "One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew."

Albus gritted his teeth. How the heck did _this_ help? "But just say—"

"—then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won't it? It doesn't matter to us, Al."

Albus seethed. _Lies!_ All of them! How dumb did everyone think he was? Did he go around wearing a sign around his neck that said "NAÏVE IDIOT RIGHT HERE" in capital letters?

But Harry's next words cooled Albus's fiery thoughts. "But if it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."

"Really?" said Albus, too shocked to be angry anymore.

"It did for me," confirmed Harry.

Albus stared, wonder alighting upon his thin face. His father had chosen Gryffindor over Slytherin? _Perfect, heroic, brave, chivalrous Dad?_ At eleven years old, had Albus's father been a nervous, jittery young boy unsure of his own destiny? It seemed impossible to believe that Harry Potter had been anything but the confident, strong man he was now.

But Albus didn't have too much time to think about it, as the doors were slamming all along the scarlet train, and the blurred outlines of parents were swarming forward for final kisses and last-minute reminders. Albus clumsily hopped into the carriage, reunited with his trunk and Sicarius's cage, and his mother closed the door behind him. To his irritation, a great number of faces, both on the train and off, were turned toward Harry.

"Why are they staring?" demanded Albus, craning his head to look at the unashamedly gawking faces of the students behind him.

"Don't let it worry you," said Ron from outside the train. "It's me. I'm extremely famous."

Albus let out a nervous chuckle as the train began to move. His father walked alongside it, smiling and waving at him. He felt his heart sink as the train chugged down the iron tracks faster and faster, running purely on magic. His father kept his hand up, but soon became a distant dot on the horizon.

Albus steeled himself and turned away from the window.

Rose was standing beside him, tapping her foot impatiently. Gone were the shy smiles and blushes from her face; they had been replaced with an air of boredom and arrogance. She often dropped the smart-and-sweet-girl act the moment the adults turned their backs. Her aura was an arrogant reddish-pink.

"Thank goodness that's over," said Rose, examining her nails. "Gosh, they're just so embarrassing and annoying, you know."

"Um," said Albus.

"I won't miss them at all." Rose rolled her eyes. "Anyway, see you later. I'm off to sit with Anya and Sophie. Dom and Roxy said that they'd teach us out to put makeup on." She waved goodbye to him and was off without a single glance backward.

Albus sighed, knowing that, of course, she'd immediately abandon him for her best friends, Anya Wood and Sophie Boot, whose parents were friends of the family. He'd had to endure many birthday parties and gatherings having to listen to the three annoying girls rate all the boys and men in the vicinity on a scale from one to ten. Albus had gotten a five, and he was obviously still sore about it.

He watched Rose disappear when she hopped into a compartment filled with giggling girls around the ages of eleven and twelve, sighed, and started down the aisle, dragging his heavy trunk (which was the approximate weight and size of a newborn giant), Sicarius's cage swinging pathetically at his side. After making sure that no one was watching him, he extracted the medicine bottles from his knapsack and took his late-morning doses one by one. He gripped one of the bottles, which was labeled _Strengthening Potion—for long days_ in his mother's neat scrawl, rather tightly, wondering whether to take a slightly bigger dose. He _did_ have a long journey ahead of him…

Albus gave himself a little shake. All the good that drinking the potion would do was give him a temporary sense of empowerment, which would wear out within the hour. What was the point of having fake power, of fooling yourself that you were more than just a skinny, ridiculously unfit kid who couldn't even sit in a car without throwing up?

He took a deep breath, placed the bottle back inside his knapsack, and put his left hand in his pocket, where his wand was. Ollivander's words still rung in his head. _Ten inches. Woods: padauk and yew. Cores: basilisk heartstring, phoenix tears, and chimaera scale._ Albus shivered. _The owner will tread a thin line between good and evil, which is probably because the wand is so unstable._

He took his hand out of his pocket without taking out his wand and continued down the aisle. People ogled him through the glass as he walked past their compartments, and he glared at them in return. He had never been friendly, nor did he have the magnetism that nearly everyone in his family had—and he certainly wasn't going to turn over to a new leaf now.

At last, he arrived at a compartment that was not filled to the brim. This one only had four occupants from what he could see, which was a welcome relief from the maximum of six that he'd been seeing all along the train. Albus raised a fist to knock, but the compartment door slammed open before he could, and he stood there with his hand raised, poised to knock, feeling quite dumb.

A tiny blond girl stood in front of him, a severe scowl on her face. Albus stared at her in surprise, for he recognized her. She was the girl he had run into in Flourish and Blotts that day in July and had neglected to apologize to. And judging by the way she was glaring at him, she held a grudge.

"Hi," said Albus, trying to sound friendly. Maybe if he acted differently than he had in Flourish and Blotts she would think he wasn't the same boy who had knocked her down and tried to pin the blame on her. He wasn't even sure why he had done it anymore; it was one of those stupid things that you felt ashamed of doing only weeks after you had done it.

"The compartment is full," she said, scrunching up her nose as if he smelled bad. Her aura, which had been orange previously, was now coming dangerously close to red. "We have six people."

Albus's temper skyrocketed. He was so annoyed that he didn't even bother to keep it under control. "No, you have four. Try to learn how to count, Girl Genius."

The girl's blue eyes blazed, her aura a bright red now. "Whether we have four or six in this compartment, it's full. F-U-L-L. Do you want me to give you the dictionary definition?"

"Dictionary definition: containing or holding as much as possible, having no empty space," stated Albus, raising a finger. "There are two more empty spaces left in the compartment. Hence, it is _not_ full."

"Dictionary definition: whatever I bloody want it to be," retaliated the girl. "Dictionary definition of a prat: you."

"Clever. Do you want a medal?" sneered Albus. He took out a knut from his pocket and handed it to her. "Why don't you take some glue and stick it on your forehead? It'll make you look less ugly."

The girl threw the knut at his face. It hit his nose and fell to the floor.

"Why don't you just let him in?" said a voice from inside the compartment. While the girl was distracted, Albus slipped around her, dragging his owl's cage and trunk in and closing the door behind him.

The person who had distracted the girl was a boy with spiky bright blue hair. His hair was so jarring that Albus stared at him for a full minute, his mouth hanging open.

"What're you looking at?" grunted the boy, narrowing his dark eyes. His aura turned reddish-orange with annoyance.

_What a nice, friendly bunch this is. _"Nothing, sheesh," said Albus, sitting down, placing Sicarius's cage beside him on the last remaining seat.

The girl gave a huff, flipped her curls over her shoulder, and sat down, primly adjusting her skirt and the bow in her hair. She avoided looking at Albus and took out one of the school textbooks. He noticed that she wasn't turning the pages unless he looked in her direction, which made it quite clear that she was spying on him. Her aura turned pink for a second—though Albus could not fathom why—before returning to orange.

Albus turned to look at the other members of the compartment. He recognized another person: the albino boy with the white hair and the reddish eyes who had been in Flourish and Blotts with the annoying blond girl. Considering how close they were sitting, they were either close relatives or best friends. Strangely enough, the boy's aura was dark gray. This color meant discontent at its greatest, though from the boy's calm, expressionless face, no one could guess how miserable he was inside. Why, though?

Albus, deciding he didn't really care, looked at the blue-haired boy again. Sitting next to him, closest to the door, was possibly the oddest looking boy that Albus had ever seen. The boy had a thick, furry unibrow that wriggled like a caterpillar every time his eyes moved, and his nose looked like a pickle. Albus couldn't tear his eyes away from the caterpillar unibrow; it was positively hypnotizing.

The blue-haired boy spoke, jerking Albus out of his thoughts. "Look, you're clearly itching to ask me about my hair. I saw you looking at it earlier."

"And my eyebrows," muttered the caterpillar boy under his breath.

_Eyebrow, as in a singular eyebrow, _corrected Albus, though he did not dare speak it out loud. "Yeah," he said instead. "Yeah, I guess. Why is your hair blue?" He supposed starting with the easiest question would be the best.

"I charmed it blue," said the boy.

"Wait… you're not allowed to use magic outside of school, right? And how did you learn the magic to do it?" said Albus, indignant.

The boy rolled his eyes. "I'm in second year, and I changed my hair during my first year. With all my coolness, it should've been obvious. Right?"

"Yeah…," Albus trailed off lamely. "Sure."

The blue-haired widened his eyes. "Oh, come on! My hair is blue! And spiky! How is that not the peak of coolness?" His aura went grayish-blue with mild unhappiness.

"Whatever makes you sleep at night," said Albus under his breath. "Anyway, you didn't tell me your name."

"Ben Sears," said Ben.

Albus was hugely disappointed. He had been expecting something like Shark or Electro or even Neon, not something like _Ben_. "Oh. Okay, then."

"And I think I know who you are," said Ben, scrunching up his face. "I swear I've seen you somewhere. In a picture. No… that can't be right. I remember seeing you in a textbook, but not really…"

"You must've seen my dad in your textbook; he looks a lot like me," said Albus with a bored air. "He's Harry Potter."

"Don't spoil it, it's on the tip of my tongue—WHAT?" spluttered Ben, catching on a bit too late. "You're—you're—"

The caterpillar boy jumped out of his seat, an expression of glee crossing his face, his aura bright yellow. "Oh, can you get me his autograph? My name's Gas Shortstep, by the way. So, CAN you get me an autograph? Can you get me yours while you're at it, too?"

Gas looked at him hopefully, the caterpillar doing a little jig of joy.

Albus stared but snapped out of it. "Um… I guess I'll ask."

"If you're asking for him, ask for one for me, too," said Ben, running a hand through his blue hair, which contrasted with his suddenly yellow aura. "And your mother's Ginny Potter, yeah? She's amazing. And hot. I have a poster of her and the Holyhead Harpies. Can you get me her autograph, too?"

"Oh, and your uncle Percy Weasley used to be the Minister of Magic a few years ago, right? I want his!"

"Your uncle George is the co-founder of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, right? He's so cool! Give me his!"

"Hold on, I'll get out a piece of parchment and a quill so I can make a list," said Albus, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Really?"

"NO."

"Will you guys be quiet over there," hissed the blond girl, shooting the three of them death glares. "Casper and I are _trying_ to read."

Albus assumed the albino boy was Casper, because he also had a book open. Unlike the girl, however, he was not looking up from his book. In fact, he seemed completely absorbed in it.

Albus turned back to Ben. "What's the midget girl's name?"

The girl's protest at being called a midget was ignored.

Ben said, "Um…I think it was Vanessa or something—"

The girl interrupted angrily, "Um, no, it wasn't! My name's Valentina Willows. How do you get those two names confused, anyway?"

"Yeah, Ben," said Albus, smirking, "how _do_ you get Vanessa and Valentina confused? Vanessa is a pretty girl's name while Valentina is a fat cherub's name, and it's clear which one she is."

Valentina glowered at him. The truth was, she was nearly as cute as she was annoying, but Albus would rather die than let her know that he thought so.

"Anyway," said Ben, "are you excited?"

"For school?" said Albus.

"No, for the sacrificial ritual," snorted Ben. "Yes, for school, obviously."

"What's it like?" said Albus, ignoring Ben's jibe. Of course, he had pestered James over the summer to tell him everything, but James lied nine out of ten times he opened his mouth, so nothing he said was trustworthy.

"Well, it's hell on Earth, actually," said Ben.

"What?" said Albus. He had never heard it put so bluntly.

"Well," said Ben fairly, "it might not be. It might be better for you if you're popular and smart. But if you're like me and stupid as a gnome, it's going to be, like I said, hell on Earth."

"Is it okay if I ask why?" said Albus, intrigued.

Ben sat up straight in his seat and kneaded his fingers together like an all-knowing headmaster. The scholarly effect was ruined slightly by his spiky blue hair, but it was still impressive. "All right. I'll give you my famous newbie crash course."

Albus had the feeling that Ben's "newbie crash course" was not famous.

"You know I'm starting my second year, right?" said Ben. "So there I was, a little tiny first year. I was sorted into Slytherin, by the way."

"You're a Slytherin?" said Albus, shocked beyond belief. This was a Slytherin? He didn't look like a Slytherin. Slytherins were supposed to look shady, ugly, and suspicious, and this boy had bright blue hair and a mischievous smile. He looked more like James than a Slytherin, besides the blue hair, of course.

"If you're done marveling," said Ben with a bit of irritation, "I'd like to continue."

"Yeah, yeah, go on," said Gas, his eyebrow behaving like an eel.

"As I was saying, I was in first year. I began to realize that a select few people in my year—the people in the smartest class (Hogwarts is divided into seven classes for each year because there's way too many students in each house for class to be separated by house, by the way), Class One—were making a clique. At first, I didn't think much of it. I was pretty sure there were cliques everywhere, at every school. But I soon realized that there was a correlation between the best cliques in all seven years. You know about the Junior Wizarding Games, right?"

Albus and Gas nodded, but Valentina and Casper shook their head no. Albus gave a start when he noticed Casper move, for Casper had not done anything to draw attention to himself until this point.

"The Junior Wizarding Games are these competitions. You have to make a team of seven. Once you have a team, you're given a ranking based on the cumulative test scores of all your team members. That's where your team starts in rankings. Every Saturday, there's an event, a challenge of some sort that your team has to overcome. Sometimes your team has to complete an objective by working together, and sometimes you have to go against another team. It depends on your rank. If you win the challenge, you advance in a certain amount of ranks. The closer and closer you get to the top, the less ranks you advance, and the harder it is to stay in the top. That's why no one really knows who's going to get into the top seven teams until the semifinals. And then there are the finals."

Ben took a breath and continued, "Headmaster Reinhold said, last year, that this year the semifinalists would get to compete in the Talent Search if they pass a test, so that'll basically be the finals. The Talent Search, I don't know much about, to be honest. But it's really hard to get in. _Really _hard."

"But what does this have to do with the cliques you were talking about?" said Albus.

"I'm getting there," said Ben impatiently. "So, the cliques. Every year has them. The rest of the school calls them the Elites. And it's the Elites' fault why every competition in this school is a scam."

"_What?"_ said Gas, gasping theatrically.

Everyone had subconsciously leaned forward so that their heads were almost touching in the middle of the compartment. Ben lowered his voice to a whisper.

"The Elites control _everything_. Forget the professors, the staff. Nobody listens to anyone but the Elites. In your first year, they're decided. Of course, they keep changing if a spot opens, or if someone doesn't live up to expectations, but that doesn't happen much.

"That's what I noticed in my first year. Some of the people in the school got together while waiting for classes and went to 'cool' places after classes, like that beech tree on the grounds. That's a prime example of Elite territory. They had their own spots on their House tables, too. Everyone flocked to them. And this was only in first year. Second year had them, too. So did third year, and so on. The Elites of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw were mixed, but the Slytherins have their own separate Elites. We don't like to mingle."

"You're still not telling us why this has to do with the Junior Wizarding Games," said Albus.

"Just let me tell my story in the way I want to tell it!" snarled Ben, making Albus cringe. "But if you really want to know, I'll tell you right now: the cliques wouldn't have existed if it weren't for the Junior Wizarding Games. You see, all of the Elite cliques—First Year Elites, Slytherin First Year Elites, Third Year Elites, Third Year Slytherin Elites, and so on—only have seven members. And the amount you need to form a Talent Team in the Games are seven. See a correlation? You should.

"So, when I first noticed that the popular people in my year were signing up for the Junior Wizarding Games, I didn't think much of it. Until I heard that those same popular people were in first place for the year, and in the top seven of the school. That's when I realized that the smartest, most talented—and probably the most good-looking, from what I saw—came together to form a team."

There was silence in the compartment.

"So this is why the competitions are a scam?" said Albus. "Because these... _Elites_ always win?"

"Almost always," said Ben gravely. "There was this one exception, when a group of seventh years who were outcasts from all houses won one of the years. Do you know what the Seventh Year Elites did then? They ruined the victory party and injured the top member of the team. This is the reason why no one else wins, too. They're terrified. And if a team has the guts to try, the Elites sabotage them before they can get too far. They use blackmail, poisoning, hexing... anything. And if the professors know, they overlook it. The headmaster might know, but if he does, he doesn't mind it. He says that it's a dog-eat-dog world, and all that nonsense. Which is true, I guess."

"How do you know all this?" asked Casper, making everyone in the compartment jump. His voice, which Albus had expected to be whispery and faint, was strong and firm, if not particularly loud.

Ben tapped his forehead smartly. "I'm a Slytherin. We know these things. The other Houses pretend that the Elites are nice and role models. Slytherins have no such misconceptions. The Slytherin Elites don't care who they hurt and they make it obvious that they don't care, and the rest of the Slytherins know it, too. It's best to be a Slytherin this way. At least we're truthful about what we do wrong. We really don't care."

"How horrible," said Albus, scandalized. His family would not approve, not at all. But something inside him found himself admiring the Slytherins for being so indifferent about all the important morals that had been pounded into Albus's head since he had popped out of his mother's womb. And the ironic thing was that the very screwed-up morals that the Slytherins operated by were the exact same as the screwed-up morals that the entire world operated by.

"It's not horrible, just a bit stupid," said Valentina. "I wouldn't admit all the things I've done wrong. I'd just blame them on someone else."

"Ah," said Ben, "but you're admitting _this_. And that's what makes you a Slytherin."

"Hmm." Valentina bit her lip. "Wait a moment, who says I'm a Slytherin?"

The fastest way to find out whether she was destined for Slytherin would be to find out who her parents were. Families all went into the same Houses, almost always. This was why Albus was going to be in Gryffindor, of course. "What do your parents do?" asked Albus.

Valentina gave him an extremely dirty look, her aura turning reddish orange.

"None of your business," said Casper the albino boy. His aura went so dark it was almost black.

Albus looked at him in surprise. "You know each other, right? Are you siblings or cousins or something?"

"Be quiet," said Casper shortly while Valentina scowled.

"Okay, okay. Touchy subject, apparently," muttered Albus, shuddering. The dislike Casper and Valentina were emitting from their auras was enough to set him on fire.

"How do you get into the Elites?" asked Gas, drawing Albus's thoughts away from Casper and Valentina.

"Yeah, how do you?" asked Albus.

"It wouldn't be difficult for you, Potter," said Ben bitterly. "Your entire family is part of the Elites, one way or the other."

Albus was not surprised. "Oh. So I don't have to worry about this."

"Nope," said Ben with obvious jealousy. "You don't have to work like us peasants. You've got all seven years set for you."

Albus shrugged. "I guess," he lied. He didn't have much hope to get into the Elites, anyway. He couldn't do magic, and he doubted his family name, though famous, was enough to get him into a group that only accepted magically talented students.

The next half an hour passed in peace. Casper read his book again, Valentina glared at Albus, Gas picked his nose, Ben adjusted his blue spikes, and Albus thought about what Ben had said about the Elites. They controlled the school like sinister puppetmasters, pulling strings here and there to make sure that their path to the top was clear...

Albus was jerked out of his reverie by a voice from outside the compartment. "Anything from the trolley? Anything from the trolley?" said the voice from the aisle. Grinning at the thought of the sweets that the voice offered, Albus left the compartment, looking through his knapsack for the sack of galleons his mother had said would last him until the winter holidays. He had never been allowed to eat unhealthy foods because of his illness, and now he had the freedom to eat whatever he liked...

No, the sack of galleons would _not_ last him until the winter holidays. He returned to the compartment struggling under a giant pile of sweets, but smirking from ear to ear.

"Oh my gosh," said Valentina, staring at him and the obscene amount of sweets in disbelief.

"_Oh my gosh,_" mimicked Albus, imitating her snotty high voice perfectly.

"Shut up!" said Valentina indignantly.

"_Shut up!_" echoed Albus, sitting down and starting to unwrap a black licorice wand.

"How immature," sniffed Valentina.

_"How immature," _said Albus back, popping the licorice wand into his mouth and shuddering at the strange, unpleasant taste. He decided he didn't like licorice very much at all.

"I'm a stupid idiot," said Valentina, no doubt hoping Albus would copy her.

"Yes, yes you are," said Albus, not fooled. He rifled through his snacks and picked up some Carnivorous Crisps, then winced when the crisp bit his finger as he tried to pick it up.

"Can I have some?" asked Ben, eyeing the snacks hungrily.

Albus shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

Ben took a Chocolate Frog.

"Can I have one, too?" said Gas, his eyebrow wrinkling in the center of his forehead like a shriveled worm. "That licorice, maybe?"

"Go ahead," said Albus, pushing the entire stack of black licorice into Gas's hands, desperate to get rid of the foul stuff.

"Can I take something?" asked Valentina hopefully.

"NO."

Valentina pouted, her aura dark blue.

Albus, giving up on the crisps, took out a Chocolate Frog and unwrapped it. He popped it into his mouth and dug around in the wrappings, trying to extract the card that came with it.

_EUGENE REINHOLD_

_(1977—present)_

_Current Headmaster of Hogwarts_

_A brilliant visionary, Eugene Reinhold is responsible for the worldwide refocusing on education. The celebrated founding father of the international Talent Search, his ideas on educating young wizards have been enacted all over the world. Largely responsible for the advancement in magic curriculum, Eugene Reinhold is the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the most advanced and privileged school of magic in the world. He was an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries before becoming Headmaster of Hogwarts and likes to research magenetical engineering during the summers._

Ah, so this was Eugene Reinhold, the man who created the Talent Search, the man who had begun this academic hierarchy that had taken over all of the wizard schools in the world. Albus stared at the picture, which depicted a tall, handsome man with cropped brown hair and dark blue eyes. He looked like a businessman gone crazy, with glasses and spectacular robes.

Eager to read another card, Albus hastily unwrapped another Chocolate Frog. He held the wriggling frog in one had while he finished chewing the first. With his other hand, he found the card and unfolded it.

_AXEL ARION_

_(1990—present)_

_Talent Search Winner and Host_

_Widely regarded as the most talented wizard of the 21st century, Arion graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the age of 14 after winning the first-ever Talent Search at 13, having been the youngest ever winner and the highest ever scorer even more than a decade later. A Level Ten Plus Wizard, the acclaimed inventor of Magitech™ instruments such as Majigraphs and Magic Messengers. Worked in the Department of Mysteries as an Unspeakable for three years after graduation alongside Eugene Reinhold and Magdalene Dashner. The best known and most accomplished host of the international Talent Search, Arion travels around the world, spreading his ideals. In his spare time, he enjoys taking long walks and drinking tea._

Axel Arion, the rising star. Axel Arion, who was quickly reaching the pinnacle of success. Albus desperately wanted to meet him, to have a conversation with him. The man was practically his idol. Albus stared at the picture with glee, noting the crook in Arion's smile and the glint of ambition in his eyes.

"Oh, look at this!" said Ben, holding up his own Chocolate Frog Card.

"What?" asked Albus thickly, still chewing his second frog.

Ben handed him the card.

_HARRY POTTER_

_(1980_—_present)_

_The Boy Who Lived_

_The first and only known wizard to survive the Killing Curse. Youngest Quidditch player in the last century after gaining the spot of Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team in his first year of Hogwarts. Also known for having found Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets and defeating the basilisk within in his second year of Hogwarts. Only known Gryffindor student able to speak Parseltongue. Youngest winner of the Triwizard Tournament at the age of 14. The last master of death for having gained true possession of all three Deathly Hallows. Youngest Head of the Auror Office ever. Most famous for the defeat of the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time, Lord Voldemort, in 1998 and his work on revolutionizing the Ministry of Magic. He lives in Godric's Hollow with his wife, ex-Holyhead Harpies Captain Ginny, and their three children._

Albus felt a great sinking feeling in his stomach. "Cool, Ben," he mumbled. "You can keep it." Albus did not want to look at the card longer than he had to. In fact, he never wanted to see it again.

"Okay, whatever. I already have three of his, though," said Ben with a shrug, taking the card back.

Albus slumped back into his seat, depressed. How he wished his father was normal. He loved his father, he really did, but only the part of his father who was a father. Not the part that was a war hero. Looking at his father's never-ending list of accomplishments and heroics, Albus knew he could never measure up, no matter what he did.

The hours stretched on. Half an hour before they reached Hogwarts, a prefect with heavy acne came to tell them to get dressed, and Valentina left the compartment so the boys could change inside. By the time they had finished, the train was already slowing to a stop outside Hogsmeade station. The five students—one second year and four first years—gathered all their trunks and supplies to wait outside their compartment. The aisle was crowded, making Albus dizzy from all the auras, and it was impossible for anyone to take a step without stepping on someone else's foot.

Albus let himself blend into the group of students headed to Hogwarts. The fresh breeze hit him as he stepped off the train and followed the river of students heading into the absolute darkness.


	4. The Sorting Surprise

**-CHAPTER FOUR-**

**THE SORTING SURPRISE**

Albus hurried down the path with the rest of the first years. To his right he could see the horseless carriages waiting patiently off to the side, knowing that they were pulled by thestrals. He was quite glad that they were invisible. From his left he heard Hagrid. "Firs' years, firs' years, over here!" the half-giant called, holding a huge paw-like hand to his mouth to help the sound carry, not that it was needed. With the other hand, Hagrid held a lantern, which illuminated his hairy, wrinkled face.

"Al? Is that yeh? What're yeh doin' all alone?" said Hagrid, squinting over at Albus.

Albus suddenly became painfully aware that he was walking all by himself (the people from his compartment on the train had dispersed) while nearly every other first year was walking in a group or by a friend. _Well, who needs companions?_ thought Albus bitterly.

"Hi, Hagrid. How're the twins and Auntie Luna?" Luna Scamander, a close family friend, now worked at Hogwarts as Hagrid's apprentice caretaker. She had brought her two children, the twins Lorcan and Lysander, to live with her on the grounds while her husband worked in Brazil.

"They're jus' fine," grunted Hagrid. "Now, where's Rosie?"

"Probably straightening her hair now that her parents aren't watching, that idiot," Albus muttered under his breath.

"Wha' was tha'?" spluttered Hagrid, his aura going murky with confusion.

"_Nothing_," sang Albus. He stood beside Hagrid in silence, waiting for the rest of the first years to gather around, their auras mingling and changing at the drop of a hat. He saw Rose, Anya, and Sophie approach, giggling and squealing at the top of their voices, their auras a distracting pink. Gas was standing awkwardly by a boy with an unhealthy amount of pimples for an eleven-year-old, and Casper and Valentina were standing next to each other at the edge of the crowd, not talking. Ben had presumably gone on in the carriages, since he was a second year.

When all of the first years—there seemed to be almost two-hundred, Albus guessed—had assembled Hagrid shouted, "Follow me now!" He lumbered down the dusty path, holding his lantern high. The first years followed him haphazardly, occasionally wandering off to inspect an odd plant off the beaten path. A few minutes later, the path began to slant upward. Then, suddenly, taking them all by surprise, the tips of a castle suddenly came into their field of vision. The more they walked, the more of it they could see. Finally, they stopped, and _oohs_ and _aahs_ and _wows_ echoed throughout the crowd of first years. The magnificent castle, with its windows shining yellow and its many towers and turrets, that had risen out of the darkness rendered them breathless.

Hogwarts, Albus realized as the auras of the other first years went yellow, was _infinite_.

The first years chattered eagerly as Hagrid led them to the lakeshore, where countless boats were floating. "Get on! Only four ter a boat!" said Hagrid, gesturing to the boats. "An' be quick 'bout it!" The first years, anxious to please, scrambled onto the boats, creating a jam by the pier. Albus waited for at least ten minutes in an unorganized line before he was able to get a boat. He was followed, to his horror, by Casper and Valentina from the train. Gas joined them a minute later, sweating slightly.

Once everyone had taken their seats, Hagrid climbed on a larger boat of his own. "FORWARD!" he shouted, causing all the boats to jerk into movement. They drifted on the glassy, calm surface of the lake. Albus looked down to see glowing water creatures swim underneath the surface of the water, which was dappled with the reflection of stars. He looked back up to see the great castle of Hogwarts growing bigger and bigger as the approached it, somehow looking more amazing than it already had back on the shore. Then, making Albus jump and nearly get rid of the sweets in his stomach, a marvelous sea serpent shot out of the water and dove back in, the end of its tail visible for a split second before disappearing under the water. The ripples from the splash remained several minutes after it, shaking the boats.

"When did Hogwarts get _that_?" Albus called across the water to Hagrid, who was sailing in his large boat beside them.

"Things breed in tha' lake, yeh know," chuckled Hagrid. "The Giant Squid's got a family, and this sea serpent came outta nowhere. Don' worry, it's perfectly friendly!"

"_Cute_," said Albus sarcastically, amused by the starry look in Hagrid's eyes.

As the minutes passed, the boats neared the cliff upon which the great castle of Hogwarts stood, and all the first years strained their necks to keep sight of it. Finally, they reached a curtain of ivy, which magically spread in order to grant them a passage through. A large rock tunnel that ran under the castle yawned open in front of them, mysterious and eerie. A few torches illuminated the pebbled path up to a great oak door.

"Be careful of the water," warned Hagrid as the students began to get off. A moment later, Albus found out why Hagrid had told them to be careful. The pebbles were extremely slippery, and many people were having trouble keeping their balance. Poor caterpillar-eyebrow Gas actually ran desperately in place for a moment before he managed to steady himself.

Once everyone was safely on shore and the boats began to drift away of their own accord, Hagrid called, "All righ', everyone here?" There was a murmur of assent, and Hagrid gave the oak door three firm knocks.

It opened almost immediately. Behind it was a familiar face: Neville Longbottom.

"Hello, Hagrid. I trust that the ride was peaceful?" asked Neville pleasantly.

"As always, Professor," said Hagrid. "See yer at the feast." He gave the first years a kind smile as a goodbye and lumbered down the path, lantern still held high.

"All right," said Neville. "For those of you who don't know, I am Professor Longbottom, the Herbology professor. Come in and get out of the cold." He gestured to the inside of the corridor, which was marbled and lit up with medieval torches. The first years filed gratefully inside, all two hundred of them. They were led into a chamber off to the side, their whispers and footsteps echoing all around the empty corridor. Albus could vaguely hear voices coming from behind two large doors, presumably the entrance to the Great Hall. The older students had probably already arrived and settled in and were impatiently waiting for the Sorting.

Once they were all inside the side chamber, Neville closed the door behind him. "_Calculocaput!_" he shouted suddenly, taking all of them by surprise. The tip of his wand lit up green. "All of us are here," said Neville, pocketing his wand. "By the way, I was taking roll call with that spell. Handy little thing, that."

Several of the girls and boys that looked like Muggle-borns widened their eyes, but Albus wasn't too impressed. He had grown up with this, after all.

Neville had started to talk again, his voice loud and friendly. "Welcome to Hogwarts! This will be your primary home for the next seven years, so get comfy! You'll find yourself rightly challenged in this rigorous academic environment. Throughout these seven years, you'll be learning interactively in classrooms filled with students who learn at the same level as you, taking part in competitions and tournaments, and organizing club events and activities with older students and professors alike. It's going to be a fun-packed seven years.

"But know that no one tolerates rule-breaking here. To help encourage you, we award house points for good behavior and take away house points for bad behavior. Speaking of houses, you will be put into one of four: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Your house will become your family, and each has its own strengths and weaknesses. You'll find out more about this when the Sorting Hat sings. Anyway, at the end of the year, the points will be totaled, and the house with the most points will win the House Cup."

"The Sorting Hat sings?" muttered a mousy girl with glasses, unaware that Rose, Anya, and Sophie were sneering at her behind her back.

"I'll leave you to clean yourselves up," said Neville, "because you'll be sorted in front of the rest of the school. Don't leave this room until I call you. Good luck!" He hurried out of the chamber, holding his pointed hat to his head.

The entire room was filled with rapid whispering, as if nobody was quite sure whether they were allowed to speak in normal voices.

"Does my hair look all right?" Anya asked Rose.

Rose pursed her lips. "Your hair _never_ looks right."

Albus, suddenly self-conscious about his own hair, tried to smooth it down. But the attempt was halfhearted, and it remained as spiky and untamed as ever. Before he could adjust his plain black tie (which would soon turn red and gold, or so he hoped), something pushed it out of his mind. Countless pearly white floating figures emerged from the stone wall in front of them, causing several first years to scream and back away. _Ghosts_, thought Albus at once.

The ghost who was leading the rest was tall, with a high ruff that covered his neck. When he spoke, it was in a jovial voice. "Ah, the first years, eh? Sir Nicolas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service. Do Gryffindor proud! It's won the House Cup for the last nineteen years in a row!"

"Stop bragging," chided a very round man with a mustache. "Hufflepuff's got the spirit that Gryffindor doesn't have! I'm the Fat Friar, by the way."

"I find that arguing about houses is unnecessary," sniffed a beautiful, long-haired ghost, narrowing her eyes. "Please do not encourage rivalry before the Sorting, or preferably after."

Everyone was too frozen with fear to say anything, but the ghosts did not appear to need the first years to add to the conversation. They continued on blabbering amongst themselves until they reached the opposite wall and disappeared from sight, one by one.

When they were gone, the first years burst into chatter again, auras bright yellow, not bothering to keep their voices down. Albus realized that the ghosts hadn't had auras, which he supposed was acceptable, since dead people did not have auras, even if they were still capable of feelings in their spectral form.

"_Wow, _they have ghosts!"

"This place is SO cool!"

"Yeah, yeah, but where's the food? That's all I care about!" (This one was a large boy with a round, pudgy face.)

At last, Neville reentered the chamber and called them out. The first years walked into the Great Hall in a single-file line, their hearts beating frantically inside their chests. Albus's own heart was beating much too fast for it to contain itself, and he suspected he'd have to take a larger dose of his medicine tonight. His hands were sweaty and his legs shaky and his head pounding. He was getting closer and closer to the Sorting Hat with every step, closer to getting into Gryffindor and securing a spot with the rest of his family.

But all thoughts of the Sorting were momentarily driven out of his mind the moment he got a good look at the Great Hall. Once he had adjusted to the blinding sight of a thousand auras all in one place, he was able to admit that it was astonishing, to say the least. Floating candles hovered in the air, lighting the entire hall, and the ceiling was identical to the starry night sky outside. Four huge tables filled with students were lined up next to each other, and a smaller table on a raised platform in front of the hall seated the staff members. It was to this table that Neville led them. With a start, Albus noticed that a dirty, singed old pointed black hat was sitting on a lone stool, in front of the staff table. Everyone was staring at it, and the whole hall was consumed in silence. Then, all of a sudden, the brim of the hat opened, just like a mouth, and the Sorting Hat began to sing.

_"You come to Hogwarts  
__Thinking of cauldrons and toads,  
__But what is really here  
__Will make your head explode.  
__  
__A school with seven floors  
__And many invisible trapdoors,  
__A school with towers a mile high,  
__And portraits to catch your eye._

_This little castle, you see,  
__Is a school of magic,  
__But in reality, believe me,  
__It is much more than that._

_This is a place to learn how  
__To handle a broomstick  
__At the same as figuring out  
__What makes you tick._

_Where do you think you belong?  
__Where is it you will grow strong?  
__Now, now, you can't go wrong,  
__That's the whole point of my song!_

_In this school of seven floors,  
__There are houses, I count four:  
__Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor,  
__Each with an intriguing core._

_Gryffindor was the one, you see,  
__Who wore and created me,  
__And he was courageous as could be,  
__Never dishonorable, never cowardly._

_Ravenclaw had a thirst for knowledge,  
__And admired those on a mental voyage.  
__Her wit and creativity was unparalleled,  
__And in her house the smart excelled._

_Hufflepuff was sweet and caring,  
__In acceptance she was very daring.  
__She made sure no one was left out,  
__And in this belief, she was devout._

_Slytherin, he was a different story,  
__He picked only the cunning and the very best.  
__Those who wanted power and glory,  
__Would be put to the ultimate test._

_Though these four did quite well,  
__They had their own problems.  
__You see, in arrogance they did dwell,  
__The founders foursome._

_They were shallow and narrow minded,  
__And it was this that caused their split.  
__They had unfortunately never accepted  
__They were not perfect, they just didn't admit._

_Gryffindor acted before he thought,  
__Though bold, he was very good at getting into a rut.  
__Ravenclaw had a mind elevated by wings,  
__But was often confused about the simplest things._

_Hufflepuff, no matter how right her heart was placed,  
__Had no ambition or drive, none at all I could see.  
__And Slytherin, oh, he was as intolerant as could be.  
__The purest blood only was of his taste._

_But no matter where you go  
__You will always be in woe.  
__You cannot be perfect, ever,  
__But learn to not give up, never._

_Gryffindor was unfalteringly brave,  
__Ravenclaw's intelligence was overwhelming,  
__Hufflepuff's kindness I dearly crave,  
__And Slytherin was unmistakably cunning._

_Let these qualities out,  
__And you will be unstoppable.  
__Bad you cannot go without,  
__But your good is phenomenal._

_Have you heard my voice?  
__Now brace yourself for the choice."_

The applause was deafening, though Albus was too nervous to join in. When it had finally died down, Neville took out his wand and waved it. A scroll of parchment sprang out from the tip and fell into the waiting, open palm of his other hand. "I will now call your name in alphabetical order by last name. Sit on the stool and put on the hat to be sorted." Quickly he unrolled the list and began to read.

"Ackerly, Ewan."

His aura a dim blue, Ewan made his way to the hat. His nervousness was obvious even without an aura.

Fortunately for Ewan, the hat was quick about its decision: "RAVENCLAW!"

Ewan hopped off the stool and sat down at the Ravenclaw table, where its occupants were clapping politely.

"Addison, Madelyn."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Aferton, Harry."

Albus rolled his eyes. How many parents had named their children after Harry Potter? Was originality dead?

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Aget, Jacob."

"SLYTHERIN!"

The first Slytherin of the year caused the Slytherin table to erupt in cheers, but the rest of the school booed loudly. Albus fidgeted nervously and began to sweat harder.

"Allbright, Sadie."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Albus realized that some of the students took longer to be sorted, and others were sorted the moment the hat touched their head. Sadie Allbright had taken at least three minutes, but both Jacob Abet and Madelyn Addison had been sorted immediately. Albus knew from reading _Hogwarts, A History_ that when a first year took longer than five minutes to be sorted, it was called a Hatstall.

It also seemed that Gryffindor was a popular choice so far.

"Appling, Harry."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Two Harrys already? Oh, dear.

"Armbruster, Quinn."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Audley, Jared."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Averhill, Ruth."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Ayres, Alek."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Albus could not believe that the A's had just finished. How big was this year? Was it going to take the rest of the week, or perhaps the rest of the month, to sort them all? He wished he could sit down; his legs were killing him.

"Babbit, Kennedy."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Badgley, Konrad."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Albus stopped paying attention. His stomach was grumbling very loudly, and he felt so dizzy, probably due to fear rather than hunger, that he couldn't concentrate. He even stopped paying attention to the varying degrees of anxiety in the first years; their auras all had different shades depending on how nervous they were.

Finally, about what seemed like three thousand names later, the C's began.

"Cadelly, Xander."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Caffinch, Louise."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Cawley, Wren."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Chabot, Terrence."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Choate, Carlisle."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

A few minutes went by before anyone of interest was called: "Cruise, Pierce."

A boy with sea blue eyes and carefully combed blond hair walked swiftly toward the hat. His confidence was clear even without the telltale caramel aura, and Albus was not surprised when the hat chose, "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Culpepper, Davis."

"RAVENCLAW!"

The names were endless. From Ashley Curie to Hector Cyrus, from Lucas Dacey to Greta Dielmann, from Ian Duron to Walter Earles, from Quentin Ercanbrack to Jezabel Fair, from Marianna Flint to Donovan Freeborn; it was never-ending. A boy announced as "Goyle, Vincent" was sorted into Slytherin.

Albus was going to keel over if this continued any longer. He closed his eyes and imagined himself sleeping in a comfortable bed. After tuning out for an unknown amount of time, he was forced wide awake by the announcement of the last name that was often accompanied by a ugly swear word in his family.

"Malfoy, Scorpius."

Albus opened his eyes hastily just in time to see the Sorting Hat open its brim to announce, "SLYTHERIN!"

"Manton, Kirk."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

It went on, from Natalie Nabers to Janella Neal, from Park Nguyen to Harry O'Malley, from Shellie Oats to Rick Overton. And then, at last, the P's arrived.

"Packard, John."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Pallman, Dewey."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Patil, Alisha."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Albus's heart went into overdrive. Now that his turn was drawing terrifyingly closer, he was wishing that his last name started with Z. His anxiety was so bad now that it was difficult to breathe.

"Poppleton, Jade."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Poston, Samuel."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

A mantra repeated itself inside Albus's head. _This is it. This is it. This is it. This is it. This is it._ He took a deep breath to prepare himself.

"Potter, Albus."

Whispering broke out. _"Potter, did he say? As in THE Harry Potter's son?"_

Albus dearly wanted to smack a wriggling flobberworm into the whisperers' faces, but he had far more to be worrying about at the moment. The stool seemed an age away as he walked toward it, but it was coming too close far too fast. Wait, how was he suddenly right next to it? How much time had passed? Ten seconds? _Surely_, it had been more than that!

His whole body trembling, he sat upon the stool and jammed the Sorting Hat on his head. He wondered if the entire hall could hear his heartbeat, but found that he didn't have to worry about that: he had just heard a voice in his head.

"Ah, how interesting. Harry Potter's son? Really? I see very few similarities."

The voice greatly unsettled Albus. It was creepy how it could know so much about him in so little time, just like the Majigraph in Ollivander's Wand Shop. Albus shook himself awake—he had something to say to the hat, right now, and quickly.

_Put me in Gryffindor. _Albus's tone was commanding, firm.

"So much arrogance in the thoughts of one so young. That will get you into trouble. And Gryffindor? Why ever so? A house and a student have never been so indisposed to each other. You in Gryffindor would be a waste of priceless talent," replied the hat.

_How so?_ wondered Albus, his heart beating so fast that it seemed to be jittering.

"Don't take my word for it. Look into the mirror instead. You are not brave unless you can gain from it, chivalry is not a word you are familiar with, and you rely more on sneaking around rather than charging face-first into an enemy to win a battle. You rule from the shadows, not a hero, but a leader—one with a merciless iron fist. A mind like yours is very rare—complicated, far beyond your years, advanced and fast-moving. It's been an age since I've seen such a mind," said the hat.

_What house do I go in, then?_ asked Albus in his head, trying to sound polite but coming off as annoyed.

"You would be a jewel among dirt in Slytherin," the hat stated.

_No! Not Slytherin! Anything but Slytherin!_ thought Albus desperately.

"That line seems familiar. Perhaps your father said the same thing?" said the hat.

_My father said that you would take my choice into account, and I say Gryffindor_, thought Albus, sounding rather like a spoiled brat to the hat.

"I do normally. But I laugh at your choice. And a hat cannot laugh, but you have managed to make me," chuckled the hat.

Albus simmered with fury.

"You are a Slytherin. Prideful, wily, cunning, deadly as a snake, self-preserving, and ambitious above all. You seek power nonstop, and you know how to get it—and keep it. You thirst for power, because you think you have none. But be warned, too much power is deadly. Above all, power is dangerous in your hands. But you will attract it because of your determination—a determination so great that it borders on obsessive insanity—and the consequences will be disastrous. You are a rare gem, but a lethal one. I fear for your enemies, and fear for those whom you call friends—though, at the moment, you don't seem to be capable of the loyalty and love that true friendship requires."

_I don't believe you_, thought Albus. He did, of course. Everything the hat said was correct—eerily so. Albus hated that the hat could peer inside his head so easily, strip him of all mental clothes, look at him vulnerable and naked. How did the hat find out so much, know so much? What would it feel like to know all this? Could the hat, from searching his personality and thoughts, predict his future in a sense? And by saying all these things about Albus, was the hat telling him that he was going to cause terrible trouble?

"You are lying to yourself about everything. You are a foolish genius, one that will cause devastation for everyone else due to his own stupid mistakes."

_Shut up!_ thought Albus. A fury so strong ran through his veins, turning them into ice and fire at the same time. _You don't know anything about me! Nobody does!_

"So much anger for someone so young. So much hatred, so much bitterness, and a strong desire for revenge. What has the world done to you? Ah, yes, I see. You were denied the perfect, painless life you wanted. What a tragedy."

There was an extremely long and awkward silence as Albus resisted the urge to rip the hat off his head. He could tell that he was causing a hold up: it had been more than five minutes now, and he was officially a Hatstall.

"Of course, I'm being unfair. Perfection was waved in your face, and you ran after it, like a dog fetching a stick, but never being able to reach it. You knew the pain of jealousy, knowing you were talentless when everyone in your family was the opposite, when you were far too young, and it scarred you," the hat said.

_Shut up shut up shut up._

"The whispering in your dreams has not ceased for eleven years. It has driven you mad with both fear and curiosity."

Albus's head was aching. He was smart, but it was this ridiculous psychology stuff about _himself_ that he could not understand. He didn't want to think about it, because he knew that if he addressed his own problems and poked at his own holes, he'd fall apart. It was better to simply be ignorant of his faults, he'd decided a long time ago.

"You are destined for great things. Great, but horrifying, terrible, and shocking things. You will change everything, but for good or bad, I cannot predict. I want to put you in a different house to spare the rest of the world, but I have never sorted a student wrong before, and I cannot start now. There is only one house that will not put limits on you, that will allow you to reach your full, terrifying potential: _SLYTHERIN!_"

The Sorting Hat had shouted out the last word for the whole hall to hear, and dead silence followed in its wake. Albus sat on the stool, frozen, his knuckles white as they clutched the edge of the stool. The hat was still on his head, but it was no longer talking to him.

"NO!" shouted James, jumping to his feet. Though he had relentlessly teased Albus beforehand, he had not been seriously expecting Albus to get into Slytherin. "I demand a Re-Sort!" The rest of the Weasleys yelled in agreement with James, chanting "Re-Sort! Re-Sort! Re-Sort!" along with him.

All the color drained from Albus's face. He had dug himself into a deep hole this time, one that he certainly could not get out of in a hundred years. _Uh-oh._ He was dead. He was _so_ dead. Albus spent the next few seconds having a silent mental breakdown, at least until Neville gave him a hard push.

"S-sit down," mumbled Neville, looking just as shocked as the rest of the school and even a tad bit apologetic. "You're holding up the line. You already took seven whole minutes."

"S-sorry, P-professor," stammered Albus, hopping off the stool, throwing the hat rather harder than necessary back on it, and sprinting toward the Slytherin table. The Weasleys were still going at their "Re-Sort" chant, but they stopped, looking betrayed, when Albus resolutely took a seat at the very end of the of the Slytherin table, sitting as far as he possible could from the rest of his housemates. He had only just realized that there hadn't been any clapping.

Neville finally regained himself enough to call out the next name: "Prazer, Aislynn."

As Albus sat there, dejected, he zoned in and out of the Sorting, his head throbbing. The other Slytherins were whispering about him, giving him suspicious, even hostile, looks. Somehow, he didn't think they were a very welcoming bunch. Only Ben smiled at him, though the smile faltered when Albus glared at him with enough venom to kill a nundu.

"Shortstep, Gas."

The boy with the unibrow that resembled a caterpillar sprinted to the hat, tripping midway, raising gales of laughter from the students. Embarrassed, his eyebrow twitching frantically, he sat on the stool. The hat took a very, very long time, nearly as long as it had with Albus. Then, to everyone's eternal surprise, the hat called out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Sorting continued, but now everyone was so exhausted (and shocked by Albus's Sorting) that nobody could make himself or herself pay attention anymore. People started to gossip and chatter, at least until a stern-faced woman on the High Table gave them all a scorching glare. From Nadine Sabler to Katlyn Suttles, from Harry Talbot to Prentice Tyrrell, from Olga Ulrich to Nora Vaden, the line of first years grew smaller and smaller. Albus watched from his seat at the Slytherin table, not making conversation with anyone else.

After what seemed an age, a name Albus recognized was called: "Weasley, Rose."

"GRYFFINDOR!" The Weasleys welcomed her with open arms as she joined them, and she and they all glared at Albus, as if he had done them a great personal injustice.

Albus attempted to ignore them, and failed miserably.

"Weldor, Alexis."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Wickham, Halle."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Williams, Casper."

Albus gave a start as the albino boy from Diagon Alley and the train walked up to the stool. The hat did not need much time to scream, "SLYTHERIN!"

"Willows, Valentina."

Albus gave another start as the short blond girl with the bow in her hair took Casper's place on the stool. Despite their similar last names, they were clearly not siblings. Even so, the hat seemed to have a similar opinion on Valentina as it did on Casper. "SLYTHERIN!" it shouted before it had even properly settled on her curls.

"Winer, Lucinda."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Wixon, Zachary."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Wood, Anya."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Wyman, Gregory."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Yamamoto, Julie."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Yancy, Lisa."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Young, Brian."

"RAVENCLAW!"

Only a few students remained now—very few.

"Zabini, Antonio."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Zagar, Harry."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Zimmerman, Karen."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

And mercifully, at long last—

"Zwicker, Wallace."

The entire student body cheered as a mortified Wallace Zwicker took his seat at the Ravenclaw table.

"Now, now, don't be so rude. There's no hurry." A tall, magnificent man—whom Albus had been too anxious to notice before now—stood up. He had been sitting at the very center of the long High Table, and it was obvious to anyone with half a brain that he was the headmaster. "Patience is a virtue, did you know?"

Everyone groaned and stuck out their tongue at him. Albus was shocked, and so were the rest of the first years. But Headmaster Reinhold did not seem to be offended in the slightest; his aura was as golden as ever. His booming laugh carried throughout the whole hall, and it was clear that he had a sense of humor. "None of that now. I've got a lot to say, but unless I want you all to start a riot, I suppose it'll have to wait until after the feast. But first let's have a toast—TO LEARNING!"

"TO LEARNING!" bellowed the students, just as all the golden plates filled up with food at the same time. All the Muggle-borns gaped in shock, and even the students with magical families gave hoots of appreciation, though this might have been solely because they now had nourishment after at least two hours of having to listen to the long Sorting Ceremony. Glasses of pumpkin juice clinked against each other, and happy chatter consumed the hall.

Albus heard a clatter of plates as Ben Sears, the second year from the train, moved down to the table to sit next to him. Albus scowled at him.

"Did someone crap in your food, or are you just bitter?" asked Ben, his aura yellow with amusement. He seemed to be enjoying Albus's pain.

Albus decided to ignore him and looked at the High Table, where Eugene Reinhold was conversing with a man with an erudite appeal. He realized that there were around fifty teachers on the table, even though there were only seven core classes and a handful of electives.

"Why are there so many teachers?" Albus asked Ben, supposing that since Ben was being determinedly friendly he should take advantage of the situation.

Ben, as it were, was eager to contribute his knowledge.

"There are too many students for one professor for each house or double class to teach. There are almost fifty students per year in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Gryffindor has more; it's the most popular. Slytherin, the least popular, has less. A professor can't control fifty—or hundred, in the case of a double period—students alone." Ben stopped to take a deep breath and chewed some of the chicken on his plate.

"That's why the years are separated by achievement level. Class One, the smartest, has the hardest, meanest teachers. Class Seven, the stupidest, has the nicest, least competent teachers. There's a professor for each Class, and they teach that same level all seven years," explained Ben. He seemed exhausted after all the talking and preoccupied himself with finishing his chicken.

Albus, who was fine with the silence, focused his attention on the other first years of his house. Slytherin had exactly thirty new additions, fifteen girls and fifteen boys. This was absolutely pitiful compared to Gryffindor's seventy and Ravenclaw's and Hufflepuff's fifty or so each. He wondered how they were all going to fit.

As he surveyed the first years, he saw Valentina and Casper talking with their heads bent close, their auras gray-blue. They weren't eating that much, either. He leaned closer to them to hear what they were saying, hoping he wouldn't be detected, but as soon as he tried to listen, they stopped talking and started to drink pumpkin juice.

He turned away from them to look at the other first years, which included a sneaky-looking dark-skinned boy whom Albus remembered from the Sorting was Antonio Zabini; Scorpius Malfoy, the boy with the pale blond hair that Albus had seen on Platform Nine-and-three-quarters; Vincent Goyle, a thickset boy with small, mean eyes; Terrence Chabot, a handsome boy with carefully combed brown hair and a charismatic smile as he talked to people around him; Natalia Nott, a dark-haired girl with a pug-like face who was checking her reflection in a small portable mirror; Aislynn Prazer, a pretty girl who was giggling next to Terrence, laughing in a fake way at every word he said; and Alexis Weldor, a mousy girl with glasses who was reading a textbook while she ate, though not missing a word of the conversations going on around her.

These seven seemed to have formed a group already. Their auras were yellow, eager, and pulsating around them, and they kept talking to each other, discussing a variety of topics. Some of them didn't talk very much, Scorpius and Alexis among them, but listened instead, their sharp eyes taking in every inch of their new housemates.

Albus suddenly knew what Ben had meant about cliques. All down the table, groups of seven were engaged in chatter. Some were quieter than others, but there were definitely connections between them, portrayed through the slightest touches and laughs, through the change of their auras for the better. Albus turned to the other house tables and was unsurprised to see that this same arrangement was echoed in Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw.

Albus had no idea where he fit into this rigid routine. He knew from the annoyed, hostile looks that the other Slytherin first years were giving him that he was not going to get a chance to be part of any of their groups, which were quickly being made with the shakes of hands and the exchanging of life stories.

"You see it, don't you?" said Ben, who had finished his chicken just in time to see Albus looking around with despair.

"Be quiet, please," said Albus. The sheer number of ever-changing auras was giving him a severe headache, and it difficult to think. Trying to find something different to concentrate on, Albus focused on the Slytherin first years' conversations.

"Did you hear that the Talent Search is coming up this year?" said Terrence Chabot, lazily stirring his soup to cool it. He was apparently the leader of the conversation.

Aislynn Prazer jumped at the chance to contribute, batting her eyelashes at him. "Yeah, I know. It's in June."

"It should be real fun. I want to get in. The Ministry'll remember that you were in it when you graduate. It looks good on your job applications," said Antonio Zabini.

"That's true, but it's going to be nightmare," said Scorpius Malfoy, speaking in a quiet, intelligent voice that made it clear to Albus that he was not a boy who was messed with. "Do you know how many people would_ kill_ to get in?"

"Don't exaggerate," said Natalia Nott, rolling her eyes. "But sure, it'll be nasty. Like, super nasty. I need to perfect my cheating skills."

They laughed at the joke, if it _was _a joke.

Albus, who suddenly realized that he was neglecting his food, gulped down some fried chicken. He relished in this newfound freedom; he was now able to eat whatever unhealthy foods he wanted since his parents weren't there to monitor his diet. After a while, the main courses were replaced with desserts, much to his delight. He piled ice cream and treacle tart and biscuits high on his plate, grinning ear to ear. He might like this school after all, thanks to the food.

Finally, all the plates were cleared, and silence descended upon the Great Hall. Headmaster Reinhold stood up and clapped his hands together, beaming. Then, causing Albus and everyone else to jump, he bellowed in his booming, carrying voice, "WELCOME TO HOGWARTS!"

The cheering was deafening. Albus wondered whether everyone was drunk from being so full and content from the delicious feast.

"Your memories are ready to be filled up with the events of another amazing year. Seventh years: everything has led up to this year—you're almost done! Sixth years: you've got a long way to go, but study hard and you'll climb to the top without a single pant. Fifth years: Work, work, work! Work hard now and it'll pay off in the long run. Fourth years: this is the adventurous year, the one that you get to experiment and try out new ideas. Make of it what you will, but make it good! Third years: you'll be in for a storm of new electives—dabble in all of them and see which one suits you. Second years: fill up your heads with knowledge, you'll need it. And first years: you're in for a heck of a good time, so hold on tight for an unforgettable journey!"

The clapping and cheering was even louder this time. Albus couldn't fathom why; weren't their lives filled with studying, studying, and more studying? Did they possibly _enjoy _the challenge, the hard work?

"Now, for the second part of the lovely speech I've prepared," continued Reinhold, still smiling infectiously. "Hogwarts is now unbelievably advanced. It holds the spot of the number one magical school in the world, and our students continuously continue to outsmart those of other schools. We are the leaders of the leaders, the cream of the cream, and here, in this magnificent castle, we hone our skills. At Hogwarts, we value four different qualities: tolerance, wisdom, courage, and ambition, and all of you have all four!"

The last word was an earsplitting yell, and Albus covered his ears, fearing the echo. He had done the right thing, because a second later, the hall was seized by a roar so loud that it shook the very walls and rocked the floor. Even Reinhold, who had also been taken by surprise, jumped.

The doors to the Great Hall burst open with a bang, and a great green dragon swooped inside. Everyone screamed and ducked, but the dragon showed them no mercy. It spewed orange fire from its great jaws, its catlike yellow eyes regarding them eerily as it landed in front of the Great Hall and folded its scaly green reptilian wings.

The entire High Table was laughing its head off. Headmaster Reinhold actually had tears of mirth in his eyes. Albus gritted his teeth—what was so funny about the school nearly being burned down? He turned his attention to the now-tame dragon and noticed something he had not before: the dragon had a rider. The man who had ridden it hopped off its ridged back and waved. He was tall, and heavily muscled and tattooed, with black hair and a mustache to complete the image.

"A spectacular entrance, Van!" said Headmaster Reinhold. "Truly marvelous."

"Aw, you flatter me, Eugene," said the macho-man dragon rider.

"Students, students, please forgive me for not warning you," said Headmaster Reinhold to the students, who were all still trying to catch their breaths. "This is our new flying instructor and Quidditch referee, Professor Van Flarus. Please give him a warm welcome."

There was loud applause now that most people had gotten over the initial shock.

"And here's my dragon Smiley," said Professor Flarus, gesturing to the—_well_—dragon.

There was utter silence. The announcement of the name had been rather anticlimactic; Albus had been expecting a name like Firefang or Bloodscale or perhaps even Killer, all traditional dragon names. The last thing he had been expecting was an overly friendly name like _Smiley_. The name was even more misleading for a dragon than the name _Norbert_.

"No, I'm not kidding, I swear," chuckled Professor Flarus. "And for the record, my wife named him, not me, and by then it was too late and he wouldn't respond to anything else."

There were quite a few sniggers at this. Professor Van Flarus led Smiley the dragon out of the limelight and behind the High Table, where it sat on its haunches obediently, smoke curling from its nostrils.

"That, I believe, was an awe-inspiring demonstration, was it not?" said Headmaster Reinhold. "Oh, Van, you stole my thunder! I don't think anyone's going to be able to pay attention to me after that." He was very right, of course; nobody could quite take their eyes off the huge dragon sitting in plain sight.

Nevertheless, Headmaster Reinhold continued. "Now, I know this is not a favorite topic, but it's necessary. RULES! One of the most obvious rules is, of course, to not go into the Forbidden Forest. It's actually _forbidden_, you know. I don't understand what's so difficult to understand about that. Moving on… absolutely NO dueling in the corridors! I don't want a repeat of that ridiculous _rictumsempra_ epidemic a few years back. I like laughter, but not _that_ much!"

Albus could not resist a smile; Headmaster Reinhold was a pretty funny and cool guy. It was hard not to like him.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. I believe Professor Flarus—whom, like I said before, is our flying instructor, as you may also have surmised from the giant dragon—will be observing first years during his lessons and reporting particularly promising students to the Quidditch captains of each house. Don't be afraid to show off!"

Albus noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed at this point. Clearly, they were not as laid back and humorous as the headmaster. But at that moment, Headmaster Reinhold's tone suddenly went from lighthearted to very serious.

"For the biggest announcement of the day: the Talent Search has come to Hogwarts this year. Entrance will be tricky, and talent will be ferociously searched for. The Junior Wizarding Games will play a crucial part in being accepted into the Search, but there will be more information on the process of applying for the Games and Search later.

"Though there are no wars, it's a dog-eat-dog world out there, and only the most gifted gain a place among the top. All the professors will be on a lookout for the best of the best. To sum it all up, _it'll be a battle to prove yourself number one this year_!"

A fire was burning deep in Albus, one that he couldn't quench no matter how hard he tried. Number one. The winner of the Talent Search. The one at the very top of the school—no, of the _world_.

_Me. I want it so badly to be me, _thought Albus.

Headmaster Reinhold tore him out of his musings. "And now, on a lighter note, let's end the feast by singing the school song! Choose a tune and get going!"

And so they did, in the tunes of certain famous wizarding pop songs, the heavy metal songs of the Wacky Brothers, and even the wedding march.

_"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,  
Teach us something please,  
Whether we be old and bald,  
Or young with scabby knees,  
Our heads could do with filling,  
With some interesting stuff,  
For now they're bare and full of air,  
Dead flies and bits of fluff,  
So teach us things worth knowing,  
Bring back what we've forgot,  
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,  
And learn until our brains all rot."_

Albus seriously doubted that the brains of anyone at this school were ever full of air, dead flies, and bits of fluff. They were all too worried about their test scores to forget studying for a single day, even during the summer.

"Now then, off you go! Good night—don't let the wrackspurts bite!"

Everyone started to get up and make their way out of the Great Hall. Albus looked toward a Slytherin prefect, who introduced himself as Nathan Gallahan.

"This way. We're going down to the dungeons," said Gallahan shortly. They exited the Great Hall and went down long corridor after long corridor. Albus's feet felt as though they'd been filled with lead when he had been sitting down, but he still had enough presence of mind to memorize the route.

After going down a fourth corridor, he realized that the ground was sloping downwards; they were going under the lake. The corridor became narrower and narrower, and Albus noticed that the walls gave off a slight green glow. They were extremely deep down now.

Then, making it worse, they reached a dead end.

"Oh, we're goners!" wailed Aislynn, clutching Terrence Chabot's arm like a boa constrictor.

"Don't be stupid," said Gallahan. "We need the password: _serpentine_." The wall slid open, revealing a square entrance. They all climbed in, one after the other, and then gasped as one. The walls still glowed green, but now they were decorated with skulls and bejeweled pictures. A slightly greenish fire crackled coolly in one corner, and the rest of the Slytherins were perched on large emerald green armchairs. The room looked like the parlor of a creepy king's castle—it had a very regal feel to it.

"Don't go anywhere yet," said Gallahan. "I still need to assign you to your dorms. Wait here." He took a long list in his pocket, then waved his wand, muttering something under his breath. The list separated itself into about thirty pieces of parchment, then each part zoomed toward each of the new Slytherin first years. Some smacked a few of the first years in the face, but Albus was quick enough to snatch his own scrap of parchment out of the air before it hit him.

He unfolded and read it: **Albus Potter: ROOM 1C (Boys). **

"We like to keep the dorms small and comfortable, not huge and chaotic," explained Gallahan. "The school decided on a maximum number of students in each dorm—which is five. Since we've got thirty new first years, fifteen boys and fifteen girls, there's three rooms for each gender of five people each: 1A, 1B, and 1C, each for girls and boys. Your dorm is chosen at random, but you'll be with the same people for all seven years. Anyway, head there; you'll find your luggage waiting. Girls to the right, boys to the left."

Albus followed his fellow male first years to the door on the left. A dark, forbidding staircase, one that moved down, stretched out in front of them. Albus could not see a light at the end.

"I'll go first," said Terrence Chabot, bravely taking the first step. The moment his shoe crossed the threshold, eerie green torches lit up on each slimy wall. When they reached the bottom, they were greeted by a circular room that led into seven corridors—which stood for the seven years. The first years took the first corridor and were faced with another circular room, this one with three doors—for their dorms. Albus, remembering that he was in 1C, went in the third door, which was clearly labeled as such.

He was followed by Terrence Chabot, Scorpius Malfoy, Casper Williams, and Antonio Zabini.

Albus predicted this would not be fun.

Before he could think about it anymore, he saw the inside of his dorm. The walls still glowed here, though they were adorned with bejeweled tapestries of serpents and dragons and other creepy reptilian creatures, just like in the common room. The four-posters were hung with deep green velvet, which were also decorated with pictures of snakes. Albus saw Sicarius's empty cage and his trunk by the bed at the very end of the room.

"Cool," said Zabini, throwing himself on the four-poster closest to the door. They all started to unpack and arrange picture frames on their dressers, but Albus was too exhausted to bother. After changing into his bedclothes, he threw himself on the fresh, cool sheets and snuggled in.

He thought about many things. He thought about his family and the shocked, betrayed looks on their faces. He thought about the seven-member cliques that had all been assembled that very evening, leaving Albus out. He thought about the challenge-loving headmaster, Eugene Reinhold. He thought about his wand, the powerful triple-cored prototype with the Element of Energy. He thought about the Talent Search, and how he desperately wanted to win it. He thought about the whispers that haunted his dreams, calling him _Colossus._

Needless to say, sleep took a long time to find him.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks to those of you who reviewed. Remember, the more reviews I get, the faster I'll update. Right now, I think the interest level deserves biweekly updates. If the interest in the series significantly increases, so will the update time. :)**


	5. Preliminary Intelligence Tests

**Author's Note: There were a couple people who informed me that Harry was born in 1980, not 1981. Oops. Let's just say that math is NOT my strong point. Thanks to those of you who reviewed! I've probably made fifty more mistakes in addition and subtraction elsewhere. Tell me if you catch any more! :)**

**Hope you all had a very merry Christmas! Sorry I didn't give y'all a double update. I'm really mean. **

* * *

**-CHAPTER FIVE-**

**PRELIMINARY INTELLIGENCE TESTS**

Albus blinked sleepily in the dim green light. He opened his eyes fully a moment later, realizing that the lamps that emitted a sickly green light had turned on in a poor imitation of morning sunlight.

As he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, wondering why the sun wasn't shining, he suddenly figured out where he was: the Slytherin dungeons, which of course did not have any natural light and had to make do with the green lamps.

"I see you're awake, Potter," said a boy's voice. The face of Terrence Chabot loomed in front of him.

"Yes," said Albus shortly, sitting upright. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yeah," said Chabot. "You went to sleep so quickly last night that you didn't have the chance to introduce yourself. I'm Terrence." He held out a hand.

Albus wished that he wasn't being forced to meet-and-greet while he was still in his pajamas. "I'm Albus," he said, shaking Chabot's hand nervously.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," said Chabot, his smile warm but his eyes cold. "That's what I thought, but I wasn't sure... Your last name is Potter, right?"

"Yes..." Albus guessed from Chabot's silvery aura that he was lying and had been _very_ sure last night exactly whom Albus was. Deciding to ignore this fact, Albus stood up and stretched.

"See you later, Albus," said Chabot. There was definitely something cold about his eyes.

"Yeah, sure," said Albus, watching him walk across the room to talk to Antonio Zabini. While he was alone, Albus quickly brushed his teeth and dressed, dragging a comb through his hair. The other boys in his dormitory where sitting around on their beds and deeply engaged in conversation. Albus sat down on his bed, fully clothed in his school robes. He played nervously with his silver-and-green tie, resisting the urge to tear it into pieces.

"We're taking the PITs today," said Chabot brightly. "The Preliminary Intelligence Tests. The future of our entire year is at stake!"

"We're taking the PITs _today_?" said Zabini, alarmed. "So soon? It's Saturday. School doesn't start until Monday."

"Of course," said Chabot. "I mean, we'll be assigned to our Class Levels tomorrow and given our schedules on Monday, and I'm sure the professors need today to grade the tests."

"You think you'll make into Class One?" said Scorpius. He spoke it lightly, but there was a glint in his eyes.

"I'm aiming for it," said Chabot, "though I don't reckon I'm smart enough." His modesty was overwhelming, but his aura was still disconcertingly silver. Barely a word out of his mouth was the truth. "What about you, Zabini?"

"My siblings have all been in Class One," said Zabini curtly. "I'm almost certain I'll follow in their footsteps."

"And you, Malfoy?" said Chabot. "I don't think you have any siblings."

"No," said Scorpius. "I don't know what Class Level I'll make."

"Potter? Williams?"

Albus and Casper jumped. They'd been silent all this time.

"Not sure," said Casper. He did not elaborate.

"What he said," muttered Albus. Of course, he was desperate to make it into Class One, but he wasn't going to reveal that. He didn't want to be embarrassed if he didn't get in.

"Breakfast ends at eight, and the PITs start at nine," said Zabini. "It's nearly seven-thirty; we should get going."

Still chattering, Chabot, Zabini, and Malfoy left the room, Casper and Albus following them like silent shadows. Albus was a bit too miserable to make friends; he was dreading his family's reaction. So absorbed in his thoughts was he that he tripped up the steps leading into the Slytherin common room and barely managed to stay upright by grabbing onto a torchlight. He was the poster child for clumsiness. He had long since come to terms with this, but it still irritated him. It was just one more thing on a long list of things that were wrong with him.

The moment that the boys stepped out into the common room, they met up with the other boys from the other dormitories, 1A and 1B. Albus could see the first year girls mingling with each other as well, a very obvious gap between the two genders. Older Slytherins were milling around the common room, too, the gender gap less conspicuous among them, joking around and mocking whatever poor student that had irritated them that day.

Albus watched Casper slip out from the throng of boys that were slowly making their way across the common room and join Valentina Willows, his blond friend. The two of them separated from the other Slytherins and walked on ahead, not lingering for meaningless chatter. Albus stared after them, realizing that, though they were alone, they still had each other, while Albus, at the moment, had absolutely no one.

"Oi! Potter!" said a boy with electric blue hair. Albus remembered him to be Ben Sears, the second year he had met on the Hogwarts Express. "You'll be taking the PITs, won't you?"

"I guess," said Albus, falling into step with Ben. The two of them left the common room and the first years behind, not that Chabot or any of the others noticed.

"It's a crazy test," said Ben. "It'll make no sense, trust me."

Albus frowned. "What Class Level are you in?"

"Last year I was put into Class Four," said Ben, shuddering. "Dead average. The last thing anyone wants to be. I'm hoping that my scores will improve this term and I'll switch into Class Three or Two."

"Wait a moment, let me get this straight," said Albus. "How many openings are there for each Class?"

"Twenty-eight," said Ben promptly. "Seven from each house."

"So are all the Elites from Class One?" said Albus, remembering Ben's explanation about the hierarchy of Hogwarts on the train yesterday.

"Mostly," said Ben. "But sometimes a few of the students in Class One don't want to be a part of any group."

"What's the stuff on the test like?" said Albus.

"It changes every year," said Ben, "but it's brain teaser stuff. A bunch of tricks. Ravenclaw nonsense, practically. It's slightly biased toward students with wizard families, but Muggle-borns can take the test again after the winter holidays if they think they've improved. Though most of them really don't."

"What are the teachers like?" Albus said. He mentally checked another question off his long list. Ben was going to be talking for a long time.

"It depends on what Class Level," said Ben. "My teachers, the Class Four teachers, are pretty decent. They teach well, and they're fair. Normal teachers. I'm pretty sure the Class One teachers are more... unique, and the Class Seven teachers probably have no idea what they're talking about. The Class Seven students are stupid anyway, so no one really cares."

"Tell me about the Class One teachers," said Albus eagerly. "What have you heard?"

They had made it to the Great Hall. The din hurt Albus's ears and the fluctuating auras didn't help matters, but he forced himself to focus on Ben.

"Look there, at the High Table," said Ben, gesturing to a man with graying hair and spectacles that Albus had seen talking to the headmaster at the feast last night. "That's Professor Chronos. He teaches DADA. He's Head of Slytherin. He's scary as hell, according to the Class One students. One time he caught a student passing a note while he was talking and made them stand on their head and repeat 'I am a brainless buffoon who barely bothers to breathe' fifty times."

"Really?" said Albus, horrified.

"And that's Slughorn, who teaches Potions," continued Ben. He gritted his teeth. "He plays favorites. He has this stupid Slug Club every month and it's the dumbest thing anyone's ever..." He trailed off, taking a deep breath.

Albus, who had heard about Slughorn from his parents, prompted Ben to continue to the next professor.

"And the Class One Charms teacher, Professor Northumb... well, he's insane, but brilliant. But mostly insane. Class One students make fun of him all the time." Ben snickered to himself.

The two of them sat down at the Slytherin table. Ben piled bacon on his plate, and Albus followed suit.

"What do older students who've already taken the PITs do for the day?" said Albus.

"Whatever they do on a regular weekend," said Ben, shrugging. "Get an early start on homework, laze around, flirt. The usual."

Albus opened his mouth to respond with another question, but at that moment someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Albus whirled around. "Huh?"

It was Rose, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. She smiled at him nervously, her aura bluish gray. "So, how're you this lovely morning?" she asked.

Albus stared. "What?"

"I'm here to talk to you on behalf of the family," said Rose, cutting the small talk and getting to the point.

"Oh," said Albus, raising his eyebrows. "I wasn't aware that we had an official spokesperson. Congratulations on being elected."

"Funny," said Rose. "But anyway... we want to say... um... that we didn't expect you to be in Slytherin, but we don't hate you. And by the way, I already sent letters to everybody telling that you were in Slytherin. Mum and Dad and Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny. And I said we were okay and weren't going to be mean even though we hate Slytherins and everything." She said this last sentence very fast, without any pauses.

"Are you finished?" asked Albus.

"No," squeaked Rose. "I was also supposed to say that James wanted me to tell you that he knew you were going to be in Slytherin all along and that you have to give him fifty galleons."

"Are you finished _now_?" asked Albus.

"Yes."

"Well, tell James I don't have fifty galleons. Bye."

Albus waited for her to leave, but she didn't. He cleared his throat.

"Um... good luck, Al," she said quietly. "On the test, I mean. The PIT. Reckon we'll be in Class One together?" She looked as though she dearly hoped not, so she wouldn't have to see him so much.

"Maybe," said Albus, noticing how sure Rose was of her place in Class One. "You can leave."

She gave a twitchy jump and fled from the table, returning to the safe haven of the red-and-gold-clad students. Albus watched her go longingly.

"You really want to be there, don't you?" said Ben, watching him watch her.

Albus sighed. "No." He had never belonged anyway. This just confirmed it.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Albus was exploring the library, getting some last-minute studying under his belt. He had already memorized all his textbooks—he did, after all, have a near-perfect memory—but it couldn't hurt to read beyond the course books, could it? There was still an hour until nine o'clock, when the test started, and he was determined to use it.

He ran a finger of the dusty spines of the book, getting a feel for them. Touching a book, he felt, was like shaking hands with a book. The firmness of the spine, the smoothness of the cover... it all helped shape the personality of the book. Albus loved books more than he did people. Books didn't have ever-changing auras. Books were steady, constant, loyal friends.

Albus's finger, as if by fate, caught on the edge of one of the books. He pulled it out and read the title, his eyebrows jumping up on his forehead.

_The Art of Aura-Seeing_.

Albus cast a furtive look around him, tucked the book under his arm, and scurried over to an unoccupied table. The chair screeched noisily as he sat in it and pulled himself closer to the table, and he flinched. Nobody looked at him. Relieved, he opened the book and read the first page hungrily.

_CHAPTER ONE: AN OVERVIEW OF AURA-SEEING_

_The ability to see auras is a most ancient art and can be traced back to Ma'ina the Magnificent in 8,000 BCE, who was one of the first recorded Aura-seers. Seeing auras is a branch of the Gazing Arts, in which Divination and Transcending are also included. Aura-seeing is a sign of strong intelligence, and has often gifted the humans it accompanies with a high IQ and high perceptive abilities. Those who can detect auras, which represent a mood or emotion, can see a colored nimbus, or cloud, around all sentient beings and most animals and magical creatures (exceptions and special cases on pg. 87). These auras often fluctuate in colors, matching the changing moods of the beings they belong to and are always present in an Aura-seer's vision._

Albus stopped reading; he already knew most of the stuff in the chapter, anyway. He looked at the table of contents. Chapter Two was titled "How to Understand Auras," which Albus turned to. He skimmed through the page, but his eyes halted at a few certain sentences halfway down it.

_Each Aura-seer sees auras differently; therefore, the colors for each emotion will be different depending on the Aura-seer in question. No Aura-seer's vision will be identical to_ _another's._

Albus turned back to the table of contents and read the list again. Chapter Three told the stories of famous Aura-seers, but Albus decided he'd read that later. He turned to Chapter Four, which was "Delving Into the Science of Aura-Seeing."

_Aura-seeing is a Gazing Art (see Chapter One); therefore, Aura-seer cannot feel the emotions of the people whose auras he or she sees. He or she can only detect them, not necessarily understand them. This is because Aura-seeing is vision-specific only, not thought-specific or emotion-specific. Its vision-specific nature is due to its ability to look into planes of reality beyond the first, an ability that all Gazing Arts share._

Albus stared at the words "planes of reality." He reread them, then stared at them again. _What?_ Did this mean... did this explain...?

He jumped up from the table and feverishly searched the bookshelves, not caring about putting the books he had pulled out back in the right spot. He went through the alphabet of the authors' last names twice and then tried to find books by subject, but there was no book titled "Planes of Reality." He did, however, find a not-so-promising one called "The Gazing Arts." Defeated, he returned to his table. He was just about to open the book when he noticed the occupants of the table that was next to his.

It seemed that Valentina Willows and Casper Williams had come to the library. Valentina's aura was brown with concentration and Casper's was yellow with content, which was strange, considering that all the other times Albus had crossed paths with him Casper had been extremely unhappy. The two of them had their heads bent toward each other and were whispering so low that Albus couldn't hear them. Subtly he switched to a chair on the other side of his table, which changed his position to one that was only four feet away, close enough that he could hear their words, and opened his book to a random page to make it appear that he was reading. Additionally, their backs were turned to him, so they wouldn't notice him unless he made a sudden movement.

"Casper, all those books from summer better pay off," said Valentina. "Both of us need get in Class One."

"Vallie," said Casper with ease, leaning back in his chair. "This is _us, _remember? We'll be the top in the year, just like we were in Muggle school. Math or magic, there's no difference for us. And we've already read all those books on magic we found in my dad's attic, and those ones under the floorboards in your uncle's house. And we stayed the entire day in Flourish and Blotts to read as much as we could."

"He's not my uncle," said Valentina curtly, her aura darkening alarmingly.

"I know. Sorry," said Casper, his pale ears turning pink.

"Anyway," said Valentina, shrugging off the matter, "we need a game plan. That annoying cow, Aislynn or whatever her name is, was going on about the Talent Search all last night while we were playing some stupid 'secrets' game. Get on researching it. I'll find out about the Junior Wizarding Games."

"It won't take much research," said Casper. "I already went and asked some professor for info. She Conjured a bunch of pamphlets and dumped them in my arms." He dug into his schoolbag for a moment and extracted a thick pile of glossy paper.

Albus couldn't see Valentina's and Casper's faces from his angle, but he could tell from their triumphant auras that they were smirking with glee. There was silence as Valentina shuffled through the papers and read through them, making small noises of approval and disapproval, at what was an astonishing speed, one that would have matched Albus's had they been racing.

"Have you looked at these?" asked Valentina once she had finished, a mere minute later.

"Yeah, I read them as soon as I got them," said Casper.

"Good. We need five more people to make a total of seven for our Talent Team. Any ideas?"

"We don't know anyone yet," said Casper fairly.

Valentina scoffed. "This is_ you_, Casper. You know everybody within a second of staring into their heads—"

"Shhh!" said Casper. "Somebody might hear you!" He looked around frantically and spotted Albus, who was not even five feet away from him. Albus pretended to be absorbed in his book, but he was fooling nobody.

"We'd better go," said Valentina, sounding scared. She stood up abruptly, and Casper followed suit. They packed up their books and papers and left, their auras gray-blue, Valentina looking over her shoulder to give Albus a few suspicious looks. Albus tried to look as though he hadn't even realized they were there or had left, staring blankly at an open page of _The Gazing Arts,_ wondering what on earth Valentina had meant. An entire minute had passed before he realized what he was blindly reading.

_A Gazing Art's strength lies in the amount of planes of reality it can surpass. For example, practitioners of Divination, or Seers, can see the seventh plane. An Aura-seer can see the second plane. The strongest Transcendants can see into the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth planes._

Albus frantically flipped the pages until he reached another explanation on the planes of reality, already having forgotten about Valentina and Casper's conversation earlier.

_First plane: colors, movement, etc. All humans and most living creatures can see this plane._

_Second plane: auras. Aura-seers, most magical creatures, and cats and owls can see this plane._

_Third plane, fourth plane, fifth, plane, sixth plane: various invisible, enchanted, and hidden objects. Depending on the strength of their invisibility cloaks, wearers can be transported to one of these planes. The higher the plane's number, the harder it is to detect. Some Transcendants can see all these planes of reality, others only a few._

_Seventh plane: time, destiny. Seers can see this plane._

_These seven planes encompass all that is known about the planes of reality, but there is a fabled eighth plane, which focuses on death. It is rumored that thestrals reside on this plane, and those who have seen death can see it._

Albus sat in silence, staring down at his book. This explained a great deal about his mysterious abilities. He was an Aura-seer and a Transcendant, which was why he could he see people's auras and objects and enchantments that were not supposed to be visible to the naked eye. He was surprised there was such a simple explanation, and that it even had a name. He was even a bit disappointed in himself for not figuring it out earlier.

He shut the book with finality, wondering what advantages—or trouble—this ability would bring him.

* * *

When Albus walked into the Great Hall a few minutes later, he was astonished to discover it had completely transformed from its earlier state. Where there had before been four long house tables, there were now more than a hundred desks arranged in neat rows. Several professors were arranging papers on the High Table, which had been equipped with a large hourglass. Headmaster Reinhold was making small talk with the first years who had already arrived; nearly half of the two-hundred-or-so first years were here already.

Albus's eyes landed on Casper Williams and Valentina Willows. The two of them were calmly sitting in desks next to each other; unlike the other students, they were not frantically flipping through textbooks and seemed completely at ease. Albus saw Casper pop a jelly bean into his mouth, his aura light blue. Valentina adjusted the bow in her hair.

Albus took a seat in the row behind theirs, hoping he would be within hearing distance of them. For some reason, he found those two extremely interesting, and not only because he had overheard their conversation in the library earlier that day. He couldn't help but feel if he shared something with them, but what it was, he didn't know.

Loud chattering coming from the entrance to the Great Hall jolted him from his thoughts. Pierce Cruise, the blond boy who had strutted to the stool upon which the Hat had sat at the Sorting last night, sauntered in the Great Hall in a similar fashion now, a crowd of first year Gryffindors following him. They were talking so loudly that Albus's head pounded, and their pulsating mass of auras did not help matters. To his horror, Pierce Cruise and his entourage, which included Rose, sat down in the row directly behind Albus.

To make matters even worse, yet another group entered the Great Hall a second later: Terrence Chabot and his newly-made gang of Slytherins, which was only half as large as the Gryffindor group but just as daunting. This group sat down in Albus's row.

This could _not_ be good.

"Attention, attention!" Headmaster Reinhold had apparently finished making his small-talk rounds and was now once again by the High Table in the front of the room. "Everyone choose a seat. We still have five more minutes left until we close the doors. Quickly now! No standing around!"

Albus watched as nearly all the seats arranged in the hall were taken. A Gryffindor boy with greasy hair took the seat adjacent to Albus's. Albus didn't notice him until the boy reached down to get a quill, making Albus start with recognition. "Hey, you're Gas Shortstep from the train, right?" said Albus.

Gas looked up, his unibrow as present as always. "Yeah. Oh, hi, Albus."

"You're not part of _that_ crowd, are you?" said Albus, inconspicuously nodding toward Pierce Cruise and his (rather large) Gryffindor posse.

"What crowd?" said Gas blankly.

Albus resisted the urge to smack his own face with a palm. "Never mind." He turned back toward the front of the hall.

Reinhold was talking again. "Welcome, first years! How is your first full day at Hogwarts finding you?"

There was a mutter of polite assent. Several _good_'s and _fine_'s echoed throughout the hall.

"Today you will be taking a very important test, called the Preliminary Intelligence Test, or PIT, as we've fondly dubbed it. This test does not require any previous knowledge of magic—though it would not hurt to know—and merely tests your intelligence capacity. _Remember that_."

There was a very pregnant and deliberate pause.

"As many of you may already know, there are seven classes for each year. These classes are organized by student ability, so you will be in the same class as peers that are as clever as you. Class listings and rankings will be provided to you tomorrow, Sunday. You will receive your schedule on Monday morning. Do your best on this test, as it will determine the rest of your seven years here! Of course, the results are not set in stone, and you may retake the test at the end of term. This option is particularly recommended for Muggle-born students, but otherwise you will be in the same class you are sorted in this year for all seven years," continued Reinhold.

"You will have two hours to take the test." He gestured to the giant hourglass on the High Table. "When the time starts, I will turn over the hourglass. When the sand is all in the bottom compartment, your time will be up."

Headmaster Reinhold pointed to a mousy woman with a constant twitch who was standing a few feet away from him. "This is Professor Delany, Transfiguration professor for Class Five. She will be passing out the test booklets and calling out times at thirty minute intervals. She will also inform you when you only have ten minutes left. Pay attention to her and treat her with respect."

Professor Delany gave a noncommittal twitch, her aura gray-blue. Albus dearly wished he would not be Class Five. The teachers seemed to fall in quality the higher the class number got, if twitchy and terrified Professor Delany was anything to go by. He was a bit afraid to see the teachers of Class Seven, the class that was notorious for its stupid students.

Professor Delany began to silently pass out the test booklets, all thumbs as she tried to pass the right booklet to the right student. Finally, she gave up and muttered a spell that caused the test booklets to de-stack themselves and float over to their assigned student. Albus yanked his own booklet out of the air and opened it to the first page, which consisted of directions.

_Read each question carefully and print your answer as neatly as possible and in full sentences. There will be fifty questions. Do your best on spelling and grammar._

"Y-You h-have t-t-two hours t-t-to complete the t-test," stuttered Professor Delany, who was standing in the front of the hall. Headmaster Reinhold was nowhere to be seen. "You m-may begin."

Everyone immediately turned the page and bent over it, their noses almost touching the sheet. Albus widened his eyes at the first few questions, and as the auras around him darkened, he surmised that nobody else was happy about them either.

_1. The first question with B as the answer is:_  
_A. 1_  
_B. 7_  
_C. 3_  
_D. 8_

_2. The answer to Question 5 is:_  
_A. B_  
_B. C_  
_C. D_  
_D. A_

_3. The number of questions with A is the correct answer is:_  
_A. 1_  
_B. 3_  
_C. 0_  
_D. 2_

Albus stared at the questions, his eyebrows furrowing. Then, as if a light bulb had gone on in his head, he realized how to answer trick questions like these. To do so, he had to look at all the questions as a whole. He turned the page to see that the questions went on for two pages, making ten in total. He read all of them quickly, committing them to memory. He couldn't answer any of them without answering the others, which made them extremely difficult to figure out. That meant he had to answer randomly, see if those random answers worked for all of the questions, and then start over if they didn't.

Albus got started while the other students frantically flipped through the test, trying to find questions they could do. _Okay, it can't be 7 because that's answer choice B, and that would make 1 be the first question with the answer B. It also can't be 1, because the answer choice for that is A. That leaves C, 3 and D, 8. If I say it's C, that means the number of questions with A as the correct answer is 3..._

Fifteen minutes later, Albus was done with the first ten questions. Relieved, he went on to the next section, which looked slightly easier.

_11. __A spell covers six inches in one second. The next second it covers half of that, three inches, and then one-and-a-half inches the next second. If the length the spell covers in one second keeps halving, when will it reach its goal?_

Albus rolled his eyes. Could they make the trick more obvious if they tried? He hastily wrote, _What goal?_

_12. Two cauldrons are labeled "A" and "B". The sign on cauldron A says "The sign on cauldron B is true and the gold is in cauldron A." The sign on cauldron B says "The sign on cauldron A is false and the gold is in cauldron A." Assuming there is gold in one of the cauldrons, which cauldron contains the gold?_

Albus read the question once, then a second time. He sighed and wrote down, _Neither of them has gold until you check both._

The questions continued like this, all brain teasers that Albus could figure out with ease. There was a question about two trains hurtling toward each other that asked how long it would take until they collided, but Albus thought it likely that the trains would realize that they were on the same track and apply the breaks before collision. There was a complicated question giving the dimensions of a hole needed to plant a Coinflower that asked you to calculate how much dirt would be in it, but Albus realized that there was no dirt in a hole, so any attempt to calculate the amount of dirt was pointless.

_30. A wandmaker has seven stacks of wands in one side of the shop, and fourteen in the other side of the shop. How many stacks will he have if he moves them all to the middle of the shop?_

Albus wrote, _One._

Number thirty-one, however, was very different from the first thirty. Albus blanched the moment he saw it.

_31. The Goblin Treaty of 1254, the year in which Desdaio the Daring attempted to reconcile the Trelewyn and the Riordark centaur tribes of the Black Forest, involved which goblin clans?_

Albus, who had no idea about anything about goblin clans and treaties, decided to go on to the next question. One question would not prevent him from getting a space in Class One. Surely no one could answer that question—it was so ridiculous!

Number thirty-two, however, was unfortunately no better.

_32. What is the color of the potion called_ Chelidonium _(the name for a genus of herbs of the papaveraceae family)_ Miniscula,_ a moderate poison?_

Albus, getting a bit worried now, read the next question, and the next. He turned to question fifty, which was, if possible, even more difficult than the thirty-second question. Trying to calm himself down, he decided to read every question. Surely, this had to be a joke of some sort.

_Think, _Albus told himself. _Headmaster Reinhold said that no knowledge of magic would be required. No knowledge of magic would be required... these questions are filled with knowledge about magic! Why would he say that if he put questions like these on the test? He must have been lying... or telling the truth._

Albus widened his eyes. That was it! There was a trick! All he had to do now was discover it.

But it wasn't until he reached the forty-first question that he realized what the trick was.

_41. In what year did Desdaio the Daring try to reconcile the Trelewyn and Riodark centaur tribes of the Black Forest, while her partner Talbot the Terrifying signed a treaty concerning the Grinchen and Garrocke goblin clans?_

Something about this question sounded terribly familiar to Albus... Desdaio the Daring? He'd read that name recently... He quickly flipped back to question thirty-one, which asked what two goblin clans the Goblin Treaty of 1254 concerned. But the forty-first question answered that: the Grinchen and Garrocke goblin clans. And question forty-one was asking what year Desdaio the Daring reconciled the centaur tribes... and question thirty-one answered that question—it was 1254!

Albus eagerly answered the two questions and turned to the forty-second question.

_42. What is the name of the genus of the poppy, or papaveraceae, family?_

Albus's face broke out into a wide grin. Question thirty-two answered question forty-two; the answer was _chelidonium_. And forty-two answered thirty-two: most poppies were yellow, and therefore _Chelidonium Miniscula_ was yellow.

Albus went to question thirty-three, which he was delighted to discover answered question forty-three, and vice-versa. He went through all the questions this way, answering them all correctly despite the fact that he had no idea what they were about. Question forty answered question fifty, and question fifty answered question forty, and then Albus found himself looking down at a completed test.

Not even an hour of the two hours he had been allotted had gone by, and he was done. The hourglass was moving at a snail's pace. Albus looked furtively around him. Most students were leaning over the test, sweating profusely, frantically writing. Not many of them, it seemed, had discovered the trick for the last twenty questions.

However a few students, like Albus, looked completely relaxed and at ease. They were calmly writing the answers, and he had a feeling that they'd figured the trick out but hadn't finished other parts of the test yet. He looked around a bit more to see whether anyone else had finished besides him, and his eyes fell on Casper, who had already closed his test booklet and was now doodling on the cover. Valentina, who was sitting next to Casper, was just now closing her test booklet. Besides them and Albus, nobody else had finished.

Albus smiled to himself and drew a picture of a first-place trophy on the cover of his test booklet.

* * *

At lunch, Albus sat with Ben, talking a mile a minute. "The test was ridiculously easy," bragged Albus. "I finished in forty-five minutes, tops. And I answered every question! I bet you fifty galleons I got a hundred percent!"

"Yeah, yeah, good for you," said Ben moodily, stabbing a fork into his plate of mashed potatoes.

"Was your test last year similar to mine?" said Albus.

"No," grumbled Ben. "They change up the tricks every year; there's really no way to prepare for them, except to know that none of the questions are what they look line on the surface."

Albus was about to retort with another boast, but at that moment something distracted him.

A group of the most aesthetically-pleasing people that Albus had ever seen strode into the Great Hall. A respectful silence fell on the hall, and everyone immediately quieted down. At the head of the group was a seventh-year with carefully gelled dark blond hair and blue eyes. He was handsome and he knew it; he held himself with the easy grace of someone filled with confidence and purpose. Behind the boy was a gorgeous girl with waist-length, straight golden-red hair, whom Albus recognized as his cousin, Victoire. Another girl walked beside her, this one shorter, with pale blond hair in a pixie cut. After her was a boy with broad shoulders and a strong jaw, and he was followed by a tall brunette who wore glasses and looked really cute in the nerdy kind of way. Two more boys followed her, both with brown hair, both tall, and both very handsome. One of the boys was skinnier, the other more thickset.

"Who are _they_?" whispered Albus, afraid to speak louder.

"The leader, that blond boy, is Trey LeVon, a Gryffindor," said Ben in a hushed voice. "He's brilliant. Smartest in his year, most talented since Teddy Lupin. And the...um... hot one is Victoire Weasley, also a Gryffindor, whom I'm sure you know. The girl with the short hair is Krystal Winters, a Ravenclaw; I heard she's really mean, but it doesn't change the fact that she's a genius, especially with fashion. She's a model, I think, and she designs a lot of clothes. The athletic boy behind her is Brad Chestermill, a Hufflepuff; he's amazing at Quidditch. They say the Appleby Arrows are recruiting him. The girl with the glasses is Esther Jones, a Ravenclaw; she's an Arithmancy whiz. The rumor is that she can calculate anything. The two brown-haired boys are Christian Hallwick, a Gryffindor, and Michael Fields, a Hufflepuff. People get them confused sometimes, even though they look and act pretty different. Christian Hallwick is one of the funniest guys in the school, while Michael Fields is a complete know-it-all."

"Oh," said Albus in a blank voice. "Any reason why they're so... good-looking?"

"They're the Seventh Year Elites," said Ben with a grim smile. "Being good-looking is practically in the job description."

"Oh," repeated Albus. He was still in shock, but he managed to snap out of it. His eyes followed the Seventh Year Elites' progression to their separate tables. Trey LeVon, Victoire, and Christian Hallwick were ambushed by half the Gryffindor table as they sat down, and similar things happened to the other members at their respective house tables.

"Ooh, Vicky, that is such a pretty new necklace! Which admirer gave it to you _this_ time?"

"Trey, did you get a new haircut? You look so hot! Oh, didn't you break up with your girlfriend this summer? Want to go to Hogsmeade with me?"

"Krystal, I love the modifications you made to the Hogwarts uniform. Those skirts are _so_ long. The way you cut three inches off and let it fringe is so creative!"

"So come on, Hallwick, tell me, how many girls did you get this summer? Come on? Is it below or above fifty? I bet you anything it's above. Oh, it was _only_ nineteen? That's so low for you, mate; I'm disappointed."

Albus exchanged astounded looks with Ben, who rolled his eyes. "Am I really hearing this?" asked Albus, disbelieving.

"Look, Albus," said Ben, "_everyone_ knows who the Elites are. Everyone and their mother wants to _be_ like them. They don't get a moment's peace, and they don't really mind it. Look at them! Don't you see how much they enjoy every moment of it? Krystal Winters's modesty is so fake that she's practically wearing a sign that says, 'I LOVE MYSELF.'"

"So they're going to be the ones to win the Junior Wizarding Games?" said Albus.

Ben nodded solemnly. "Either them or the Slytherin Seventh Year Elites. They fight it out. They're equally talented, but it's more of a contest of who's capable of sabotaging the other best. You should've seen the Elite battle during the Junior Wizarding Games last year... it was terrifying. You could see the storm clouds over the entire school. I'm not kidding."

"The _Slytherin_ Seventh Year Elites? Where—" said Albus, but then he broke off. Another group had entered the Great Hall, and their presence basically answered his question.

The group was noticeably darker and more mysterious than the Seventh Year Elites, but no less respectable or awe-inspiring. A tall boy with shaggy dark hair carelessly hanging over his eyes stalked into the hall, his hands deep in his pockets. A smirk was visible on his face. A beautiful girl with a sneer distorting her flawless features, bright hazel—almost golden—eyes, and curly dark brown hair strode in after him, flirting with two boys, who were both tall and dark, walking next to her with shameless obviousness. A quieter (but still very pretty) blond girl followed in her wake, and a short, pudgy boy with a fetching, childish face brought up the rear. His eyes were squinty and mean, but very, very sharp.

Ben, who had realized that Albus was about to ask who they were, said, "Jared Jackson is the leader. He also rules the Hogwarts underworld; that is, the black market. They say he's killed before, but it's just a rumor. I _hope_. The dark-haired girl is Flora DeWitt. She's from a prominent pureblood family, and she's had so many boyfriends that all the Slytherin boys in the upper years have been with her. And she's kissed every boy in her year. Supposedly even the boys with girlfriends."

"And the plump boy?" asked Albus. He had the feeling he should watch out for this one; he was easily the meanest-looking person Albus had ever had the misfortune of seeing.

Ben shuddered. "The Boulder, A.K.A. Abraham Nott. They tell you never to look in his eyes. He's the brute force behind the Slytherin Seventh Year Elites. His grandfather was a Death Eater—those were You-Know-Who's followers back in the day, I think. A lot of Nott's victims don't know what's coming until it hits them when their backs are turned. He's really... _sick_, I've heard."

"By sick, do you mean..." Albus trailed off meaningfully.

"Yeah. _Twisted_. Messed up," said Ben.

"And the rest?" asked Albus.

"The boys by Flora DeWitt are Matteo and Angelo Zabini. They're twins, and they always know what the other is thinking. If you're up against them in a duel or something, you won't win. The blonde following them is Casey Rutherford. She's supposedly a Squib's daughter, but she's brilliant. She has a photographic memory, and she's really powerful," said Ben.

The Seventh Year Slytherin Elites sat down silently on the Slytherin table. Everyone silently scooted away from them, and those unfortunate few who were too slow received death glares for intruding on the Elites' territory for even just a second.

"They're terrifying, right?" said Ben. "Not just the Slytherin ones, mind you. The normal ones are just as ruthless. I bet they'll be besties throughout the Games, and then when it's time for the Talent Search, when teamwork doesn't matter, they'll turn on each other like cannibals."

"They're not_ that_ scary," lied Albus, rather lamely. "Anyway..." He tried to change the subject. "When are we learning how to enter the Talent Search and the Junior Wizarding Games? We haven't received much information on that yet."

Ben said, "We're usually told the specifics of how to enter the Games the Saturday after the first week of school ends. Don't worry, you'll find out soon."

"Oh, okay. That's good." Albus fell quiet and turned his attention the Seventh Year Elites, both the Slytherin ones and the normal ones. He couldn't take his eyes away from them, their glamor and their darkness.

Today, he admired them and wanted to be them. He didn't know that a few short months later he would be determined to destroy them and everything they stood for.

Nor did he know that he would become their main target.

* * *

When Albus entered the common room on Sunday morning, he was not surprised to discover that there was a huge crowd by the bulletin board by the fireplace. All the first years had gathered around it and were whispering frantically amongst themselves. The moment Albus came into view, they all fell silent.

Albus gulped. Why had they all shut up when he had appeared? He slowly walked toward them, and they dispersed like beetles, giving him plenty of room to approach the bulletin board. There were two lists on the bulletin board. One separated the students into Class Levels. The other list listed the rankings of everyone in the school based on their test score, which was also listed.

Albus found his name on the first list.

_Albus Potter: Class One_

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He almost didn't feel a need to look at the second list, but curiosity won out.

_1: Albus Potter, Slytherin. 50/50._

Albus stared at it. He read it again, and then a third time. _One-hundred percent._ Did that mean...?

"_So_," said a bitter voice from behind him. "You got the highest score in the year." It was Terrence Chabot. He was smiling, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Good job. I'm only third place."

Albus had the urge to sprint out of the room, but he forced himself to read the other students' rankings.

_2: Valentina Willows, Slytherin. 49/50._

_2: Casper Williams, Slytherin. 49/50._

_3: Rose Weasley, Gryffindor. 48/50._

_3. Pierce Cruise, Gryffindor. 48/50._

_3. Terrence Chabot, Slytherin. 48/50._

_4. Scorpius Malfoy, Slytherin. 47/50._

_4. Judy Judd, Ravenclaw. 47/50._

"Uh, third place is pretty good," said Albus weakly, backing away a bit from Chabot, whose aura was a deep, bloody red.

"Yeah, it's great," said Chabot. "So you'll be in Class One with me tommorrow. I can't _wait_ to see what you've got in store for us, Potter. It'd better be good."

Albus looked around. The other Slytherin first years were staring at him in awe and jealousy. Valentina's teeth seemed to be gritted, Scorpius was looking at him with newfound respect, and Casper was expressionless, but his eyes burned.

Albus's back was turned on the students as he walked out of the common room. In answer to Chabot's earlier question, he said, "Oh, it _will_ be. I promise."


End file.
